When Darkness Falls
by iloveaxlrose
Summary: Suze moves across the country to begin University, where she meets, sigh, Jesse, her true love or worst enemy? Read and Review.
1. new beginnings

Well. Here you are. About to begin reading---I hope---my first chapter. You're so overwhelmed. So excited. Aren't you? We're talking about the mediator here, and, there is still a lot of complaining to be done and lots more butts that need kicking. So, first of all, read story, then, well, what do you think? Review. Tell me what you think, what you want done, and…whatever. Okay then, go on, I wont keep you any longer. Happy reading.

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Oh, sure I sent many applications to various universities and all, but the only one that ended up accepting me was the University of Missouri, Columbia. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I mean it's pretty cool and all, but that meant that I wasn't going to see much of my so-called family, not as if I really enjoyed hanging around them much. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, it's just that having to deal with three stepbrothers is a little more than a nineteen-year-old girl could handle, if you know what I mean. Imagine walking in on them while they're with their significant other, shudder.

That is how I ended up here, in Missouri, my heart gently hammering into my chest. Oh sure, it's not so bad, but it's a new place and I was sure as hell not going to make any new friends---hard to believe, I know---being the weirdo that I am. Oh, I look normal, sure, like your average teen/adult, but really I'm not. The thing is: I can see ghosts. Yeah, like the kid in the movie. I can see them, touch them and sometimes even kick their butt. Although I don't exactly go running around telling people this. That I can see ghosts, I mean. It isn't something that you can really share with someone. I mean, imagine this: hey, I'm Susannah Simon and I can see ghosts. That would go real smoothly. I would probably be put in a mental institution or something.

So, as I was nearing one of the main buildings of the University, people giving me really curious looks, as if I have the sign "Weirdo" on my back or something, I happened to be greeted by some earsplitting wailing. As nobody else seemed even slightly disturbed by the wailing, or even looked to find the owner automating the screaming, I automatically knew that this was someone of the non-living population. Damn, just what I needed, another lost soul in need of my guidance. I managed to whisper for her to stop screaming without getting people to notice. She gave me a very funny look, as if she didn't know if I was talking to her.

Then she said, "You can see me?"

Yes, this is always the hard part, explaining to the ghost that I can, indeed, see them.

"Yes, I can see you. Now, what do you need? I have things to do." I admit that that was incredibly rude, but I had just gotten off a plane, traveling hundreds of miles without so much as a wink of sleep, and, instead of just relaxing and settling in to my dorm, I have to deal with another member of the ghost family. Can you blame me for being just a little impatient, even if she is dead? But then she started wailing again, so I said, "I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Gabrielle," she said.

"Do you remember what happened to you, Gabrielle?" I asked her in the sweetest voice I could muster.

"What do you mean?" She asked, her eyes widening.

"Do you remember how you died?" I asked. All that did, though, was set off another round of screaming. Perhaps I should have been more sensitive? After she calmed down enough, though, I tried once more, having rephrased my sentence, to ask her how she died.

"Well," she began. " I remember that I was at a party and this really cute guy, Josh, asked me to dance, he was really nice. He told me he wanted to go somewhere quieter, so we left the party, and once we were completely alone he tried to seduce me. I told him that I didn't want to and he looked at me kind of funny, but then he took out a knife and threatened me. Then, everything went black, and, when I woke up I was…well…I was…" she shuddered, tears streaming down her face. "… I was dead," she uttered almost inaudibly, since she was now crying full force.

"Okay, okay calm down," I said. I always dislike dealing with the really emotional ones. I never know how to deal with them. "I will try to help you," I continued, but that only made her wail harder. Why is it that when I try to help someone, things always get worse? But I didn't have a chance to ask Gabrielle anything more since a second later she disappeared with a concluding wail. Oh great, now how was I supposed to help her? Oh well, one less thing to worry about.

So, trying to get Gabrielle out of my mind, I walked onward, smelling the fresh scent of flowers on the newly mowed lawn coating the grounds. The University building approached ever nearer until it was towering over me, and, with some apprehension, I entered its' depths.


	2. great day?

Thank you for reading my first chapter and giving me such great reviews.

Well, this is my next chapter. I hope you enjoy it---as much as I did writing it---and, if you have anything to say, please review. Any questions, comments, criticisms you may have you are welcome to post, it would really get me inspired to write the next chapter.

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"Yes Mom, I'm fine…. uh huh…it's real big…yes, just like in the picture…ya, I promise I'll call…uh huh…all right…bye," I say, closing the phone hurriedly. Just Mom. Worried to death. It hasn't even been a day since I've been here and already she's calling to see how I'm doing. She was calling on my cell, by the way, which I got as a birthday present. It works long distance.

There is a kind of excited atmosphere running around my dorm as I look around, and, a certain amount of pride wells up in the pit of my stomach as I take it all in. In just an hour I managed to settle in, my clothes already neatly folded into their petite drawers, my makeup laid out carefully on the desk with the mirror, my bed all done up nice---I don't know what came over me, truly, I don't, my dorm must be pumped with happy gas or something equally cheery---complete some forms at the main office, get my hair straightened, put fresh make-up on, and talk to my mom. I feel refreshed. It's a new start, with new people and a new place. All I have to work on is switching my weirdo dial to low, instead of explosively high.

Just then, a girl clad with a various assortment of bags and holding a mountainous amount of books enters through the dorm door. A second later, I hear a loud bang as everything she is holding slips from her hands. Some clothes escape through her bags and wind up lying on the floor, and, papers that slipped through her folders now decorate the dorm carpet, along with some books. Watching the scene unfold in front of me, I work up the energy to get up from very comfortable position on the couch to go and help her pick up her things. I start by piling up her books and then move on to collect her papers.

"Thank…thank you," she stutters, embarrassed. "What a great way to start term. Gosh, I am such a klutz," she chuckles, stooping down to pick up the clothes lying on the floor.

"Don't worry about it," I assure her, putting the papers on her bed, which is on the left side of the room, by the way. I took the right, next to the window. The one with the little seat.

"I'm Dana, your roommate," she says, offering up her free hand.

"Suze," I reply, taking her hand. Well, most people call me that. "Well," I say after a few seconds, looking around, "other than the wall peeling, the carpet being threadbare, and the desks decomposing, the dorm is not too hideous," I declare. "Add to it the fact that the window opens, that makes this a _very_ good dorm," I add.

Dana looks around, as if to give approval to the description that I had just given her. "Yeah, only you forgot the very creative graffiti drawn on the beds," she says, mockingly. Then, taking her pile of clothes, she moves to sit on the bed next to me. So that is how, in the next hour, I ended up helping Dana fold up all of her clothes, put all her papers back into their appropriate folder, and arrange all of her things up on to the table.

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I'm majoring in sociology and psychology, with a minor in English and criminology. I look at it this way: since I already hold an informal career in helping people, I might as well do it professionally, and, gaining a little more knowledge about how to do it efficiently would really help me, you know. Why criminology, you might ask, well, I need to know a little something about how the law works. That is, so I could break it without getting caught. Not that I'm a criminal. Really, I'm not. It's just that sometimes I need to break the law to help out my invisible friends, and I can't exactly, well, say that so-and-so's dead mother had asked me to do her a favor which eventually lead to me breaking the law.

Well, with my career choice set, I head off to my first class early Monday morning. Ok, it's not that early. It's at eleven. So I lied. Yeah, I'm not really a morning person, and I would have taken a later time, but it was either that or at eight, so the choice was obvious. My first class is English, but I don't think I'll be able to really concentrate since I've still got jet lag, but I guess that's ok since this is my minor. Plus it's English, and I'm sure I still haven't forgotten how to speak it. Yeah, I know it has nothing to do with that, but still, it shouldn't be too hard, right?

It takes me a few minutes to find the campus (even though I live right beside it) and, another few minutes to find my so-called "classroom", which, really, is just a little bit bigger than my whole school back in California. It's a bit overwhelming, and there must be a few thousand people in the class, too. I take the row somewhere in the middle, since I don't really want the teacher to catch me sleeping, but I also don't want to have to get hearing aids to be able to hear her either. At the moment, she's organizing a bunch of papers on her desk, and, a second later she starts shuffling her things around and lifting up the books on the table. She's looking for something, her glasses? Nope, the microphone. She puts the microphone on, and, unexpectedly, we are all greeted by really bad feedback. Some of the kids up at the front put their hands up over their ears, looking pained. Thank god I decided not to sit there.

"Welcome," she screeches, with a hint of feedback. The kids up at the front close their ears again. They wait apprehensively, afraid to let go of their ears. "I am Mrs. Johnson, and I will be you English professor," she continues, some more feedback. "In this course, I will be training you in theory, criticism, literature, and writing," she says firmly, her face crumpled up into a ball, her lips stern and unwavering.

"We will examine numerous items, some of which will include the feminist theory and poetic styles. We'll also review the proper writing of a thesis essay and take it to a whole new level, beyond the amateurish style you were taught in high school," Mrs. Johnson recites in monotone.

And on and on it went, for an hour and a half, while she went on to describe, feedback included, what we were going to be studying and how we were going to do it. After Mrs. Johnson's lecture, though, I was free until two, when I was going to be taking Sociology. So I just hung back in my dorm. Dana was going to be back at one thirty. She left for her Biology class at twelve. Yes, biology. I know. She's taking all the sciences, by the way, and a math, which she's majoring in no less. No wonder all the bags and the books and the folders. I found out she also got a scholarship. Yeah. She doesn't know I know, though. While she was in the shower, I was going through her things. No, not for evil purposes. I was looking for her makeup kit, wanting to borrow her lipstick, when I found out she owned none, poor girl, but I did find the sheet of paper informing her that she is eligible to receive a scholarship of, hear this, $20 000. Oh, yeah. When she came back I tried to act like I hadn't seen anything. Good job me. Give myself a pat on the back.

I was finishing my English homework, the one Mrs. Prune Johnson was itching to give us in order repay us for being young and wanting to go to University, when Dana came back.

"Hello," she chortles as she enters, dropping her bag and flopping down on the couch next to me. "How was English?"

"Bitching, half the kids were asleep by the end, and if some though it was even slightly interesting at the beginning, they certainly didn't feel so by the end. I was semi-conscious all the way through it. How was bio?" I ask, only semi-interested, though this question triggered a surprisingly major discussion about helper T cells and how the receptor proteins attached to their membranes can help the cells recognize invaders, and, how it can do something else that I didn't quite hear because I sort of tuned out. I left at ten-to-two for my sociology class, relieved, as I was saved from hearing another major discussion about how "the immune system responds in destroying invaders", as Dana put it.

Sociology was my last class for the day. It was taught by Mr. Borcowitz, a man with a tightly bound face, as though it was held together by sticky glue, a thin mouth that frowned when he smiled, or rather, smirked---he doesn't smile, I don't think---and beady little eyes that, when they managed to find me, held my gaze like a laser beam. To be totally honest, he didn't like me right of the bat.

As soon as he began his lesson, he asked me for my name, and, shortly after, began to ask me questions, completely aware, I'm sure, that we have not learned an ounce of what he was asking me. I, dumfounded, rang off all I could think of, only to be met by his stern criticisms about how students like me, the lazy ones, need to start paying more attention in classes and give full efforts to our studies, otherwise we were wasting our time and money. I was laughed out of class, as, getting fed up, I started a heated argument with him, and, accidentally blurted out that I thought he was a complete moron. Not something you want to let slip about your professor. On the first day of class no less. I was so screwed. Why can't I ever keep my mouth shut?

So, after that performance, I walked back to my dorm in a daze, wondering what I did wrong. I was so out of it that I was completely unaware of where I was going, until I crashed into something heavy. At first I though it was the wall, but then I looked up, and, no, I'm not that lucky, it was some guy, straight black hair, tough looking. He muttered something that sounded like sorry. I was so flustered that I didn't say anything. I just kept on walking. Back to my dorm, where it was safe and far away from people. Well, not really far, but it did provide a sort of barrier against them. So, now I am sitting, no, sulking, on the couch, reminiscing about how I screwed up on my first day of class. Stupid bum, that Mr. Borcowitz, he is. I'll show him. He is so not getting away with making me look stupid.


	3. first sight

Thank you again for, first of all, having bothered to review at all, and, second of all, to give me such great reviews. I have done as you requested. Well, as _some_ of you requested. Well…you'll just have to read it to find out whose requests came true. Have fun reading.

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I decide to take Dana out. She refuses. Says she has to study. I argue. She wins. I'm pissed. Great. So, guess what I do to waste time? I begin reading my sociology book. And…guess until what page I read up to? Oh, like, one hundred and fifty, you know, no biggie. Some very heavy stuff, that is. I think I might have a brain tumor, because I would never read school-related books for fun---not that I was having fun---or, books in general, really, if I didn't. Have a brain tumor, I mean. I should go to the doctor, you know, get a check-up, make sure I'm not dying. Maybe the dorm's making me all stupid and claustrophobic-like. It seems to have gotten smaller in the last few minutes and is now enthusiastically cutting off my circulation.

I look at Dana. She's reading. I watch her for a bit. I decide that I can't stand it anymore and leave. I go down the hall, down the stairs and out the door. OK. I look around. Strange place. Strange people. The sky is inky black. Visibility: zero. I head back. I'm such a failure. I continue reading.

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I get up for class and, this time, it _is _early. It's at nine. Psychology. I shove my butt out of bed, get dressed, brush teeth, all the usual routine, and make sure to get out a few minutes earlier so I could have time to find the class.

Ms. Paler teaches this one. She's relatively short, with a neatly rounded face, blonde hair and big blue eyes. The guys all instantly like her, and not because she's a good teacher either. Not that she's bad, but you get my drift.

"Ok, everybody, would you please take out your books? We will begin shortly," Ms. Palor announces. All the guys promptly follow instructions, military style. The ones with the girlfriends earn themselves very sharp stares.

Ms. Palor doesn't seem to notice all the extra attention she's receiving, must happen all the time. So, ignorant to the worshiping stares of the guys and the vengeful glaring of the girls, she finally begins class.

"As you already know, the mind is a very complex machine that works in very peculiar ways. Even now, we have not deciphered much about how it behaves. What we will be learning in this course are theories, developed by well-known scientists…"Ms. Palor drifts off, the guys listening attentively.

An hour and a half later, I head back to my dorm to find Dana sitting on the couch, obviously working on something school-related. I begin doing my psychology assignment.

Frankly, I don't remember a time when I promptly sat down to complete homework. This is a first. Danaism is rubbing off on me.

Psychology is my only class for the day, nice, eh? After a while I decide to go hang out at the library. And, wait till you hear this, the library is like, oh, four, maybe five times bigger than my old high school. Yeah, and it has these really soft cushions, a bunch of computers, and a million books about any topic that ever existed, exists, and will exist in the near future. And, oh yeah, it also has music and movies. The library is pretty much a bigger, and somewhat better, version of my house. I say _somewhat_ better due to the fact that, like at home, it's also filled with many boys. Except in here, the number is quadrupled twenty times. If that makes any sense.

Anyway, I take a seat, put the headphones on---the C.D. is tuned to the song: "I'm only happy when it rains"---close my eyes, lay my head back on the couch, and just relax. This is more like it. But, heaven doesn't last. Since this is a school and there are students, something exciting is bound to happen. And it did.

"I can't believe you slept with her," some guy yells. I look up, taking the headphones off. "You knew I was with her, man," he continues, the yelling becomes shouting.

"I swear I had no idea," some other guy, his friend undoubtedly, replies just as loudly. The librarian hops over to say---say is an understatement, in truth, she had to practically break her precious little librarian voice box in order to get them to hear her---that they must lower their voices since they "are in a library". They don't pay her any attention. The shouting continues. I leave.

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Dana and me decide to go to a coffee pub. It's a really hip one where all the students hang out. It has the really low lights, the ones that go right up to the table, and red curtains drawn up over the windows so that you can't really tell that there's light outside. We order coffee. I think about how great it would be if I could go back to high school, back to when classrooms where smaller and people were nicer, when Dana interrupts my thoughts with:

"So, how are you enjoying classes so far?"

"Oh, they're ok," I say, but then I remember sociology. "Well, maybe not."

"Oh, that's too bad. Mine are superb. Especially Biology, it's incredibly interesting, all this stuff about how cells communicate with each other and…"she continues saying excitedly. I well in self-pity. Everything seems to be going so great for Dana, why does my life have to suck so much? After we finish our coffee we head back to prison, a.k.a. our dorm.

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I wake up, slowly open my eyes and let them adjust to the morning light bursting in through the open window. I automatically remember that I have sociology again at two, which is definitely the class I'm totally looking forward to. Not. I look over at the clock sitting comfortably on the desk next to my bed. It's six thirty in the morning. I remember hearing something. Yes, something woke me up. Looking around the room you wouldn't see anything at all suspicious; especially not the source of what woke me. Well, of course _you_ wouldn't, you're not the one who can hear and see ghosts. She was perched precariously on the edge of my blanket. I fell off my bed when I saw her, but, luckily I landed on my butt instead of my head, although I don't know which is more valuable.

"What are you doing here?" I ask---more like quietly yell---her. "How long have you been watching me for?" I continue whisper yelling, slowly getting up off the floor and rubbing my bruised butt. Then I get back into bed and pull the blanket back over me. It's cold in here. She floats up while I adjust my blanket, and then sits back down again as if we're best friends having a sleepover party.

"Oh, not long," Gabrielle replies arrogantly. "I thought you said you were going to help me," she declares, completely unaware that she just woke me up from a very pleasant dream. This gets me real mad since I don't usually dream, because, well, I don't usually sleep, and that's because ghosts like Gabrielle, who supposedly need my help, keep disturbing me in the middle of the night. No, they can't come in the afternoon, that would be too inconvenient, they have to come at a time when I'm sleeping or a few hours before I wake up so that I can't get back to sleep. Perhaps they find it amusing. Bet it cheers them right up.

"Yeah, I might have said that," I reply, really aggravated. I remember my dream involved a really big closet, full of designer clothes. I was wearing a really nice Gucci dress and holding a very classy-looking Louis Vuitton bag in my hand. I wonder where I was going.

When she doesn't say anything I continue, exasperatedly voicing what is probably on her mind, "you want me to find Josh, make him pay and all that, right?" I ask, looking up at her slowly. She nods silently, her hair falling into her eyes, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"I'll see what I can do," I say, hoping it would cheer her up enough so that she'll leave me alone and I could get back to Gucci and closet. But, hope is sparse, and it swiftly disbands in the wind and flies out the window, since it didn't look like Gabrielle was going to budge. She edges closer to me, now sitting squarely on my legs, and, let me tell you, she's no feather---even though technically she is a ghost and should theoretically _have_ no mass---not that she's overweight, but I'm no Arnold schwarzenegger either.

"Please, you have to help me," she begs, her eyes pleading. My legs go numb.

"I told you already that I'll do what I can, this sort of thing takes time," I say impatiently. "I can't just tell the police what _you _told me, I don't think they'd really go for the whole the-ghost-of-the-girl-Josh-killed-told-me." I explain rather hurriedly.

"Ok, I understand" she answers, giving me a rather miserable look. A second later she disappears. I sit there, staring at empty space, while guilt slowly settles in. I ignore it.

Great, well now I can forget about making friends, forget about having a life, it's all gone. I'm obliged to help her, and she'll surely bother me if I don't. In any case this is my job, and a lousy one at that, let me tell you. It comes full with being kicked—especially on the head---and having to kick in return. It's a wonder I can still walk straight and be able to feed myself considering all the times I wound up in the hospital.

I let my head drop back on my pillow and look over at the clock again. It's seven. I reluctantly get up from bed and tip toe over to the computer---the one I had shipped over from home---careful not to wake Dana up. I have gotten quite handy with it, I must admit, having been half taught by my friend Cee Cee back in California and half by some computer geek I met a year before coming here. So, you could say that by now I was quite a pro. I know how to hack into someone's computer and skillfully set up a database showing the entire internal structure of any building I chose to explore, you know, things like that. And, turns out that this was exactly what I needed to be able to successfully pull off---meaning no police involvement---any stunt I chose to pull off, and this didn't necessarily have to involve any ghostly beings. What I mean is, well, let's say I didn't have time to study for an exam that was coming up, then I'd be able to, oh, find out the password used to turn off the school alarm, which was set up a year ago, by the way, and find the office the exams were kept in, and so on. Hey, don't give me that look. I had no choice, plus I was also forced to stay up half the night helping the ghost of some girl find her necklace so she could give it back to her parents.

So, I get down to work. I look up recent articles reporting Gabrielle's murder, and yes, police suspect that she was killed, but they don't have any suspects yet. Josh must be real good at what he does, killing people, that is, since no evidence was found at the crime scene. The funny thing is that all the articles say that Gabrielle had been shot, but if I recall correctly, Gabrielle's statement to me included Josh yielding a knife. She never mentioned a gun. That's a bit peculiar, but I'll look into it later.

In half an hour, I figure out pretty much all I can about this Josh, like, where he lives, his home phone, what school he attends, what classes, you know, that sort of stuff.

I get my cell phone out, go out into the hall, dial Josh's number---#69 in front---and, adopting an English accent, I say: "Hi, may I speak with Josh, please?"

The lady who answers the phone tells me that he's not home now andasks me who I am. I say that I'm Josh's Biology professor.Hey it makes sense, he _is_in third year.The professor, the oneI was pretending to be,should be very well acquainted with him by now, though I don't know ifshe'd call him, but hey, what can I do? I tell her that Josh has been selected as one of the few students to go on an island expedition in order to explore and record the characteristics of many different species, Darwin style. Hey, it _could _happen, since I also happen to know that Josh is doing incredibly well in Biology, so his mother or whomever I was talking to shouldn't be too suspicious.

Since Josh wasn't home yet, I got her to tell me his schedule, so that "I'd be able to find him and inform him of all the details." This sort of thing must happen all the time, the thing where the-professor-calls-home-and-asks-for-Josh's-schedule-in-order-to-find-him-and-discuss-something-with-him, since she didn't even think to tell me that Josh could just as easily have come to my office. Good thing she didn't because technically I don't have one. An office, I mean. Since I'm not even really his Biology Professor.Whenthe ladyfinishes telling me Josh's schedule I thank her and we part.

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"Was there anything peculiar about his appearance, something that could help me identify him?" I ask Gabrielle. We are in my dorm. Dana left a while ago. Gabrielle's a real pain but I had to call her back, I mean, I wasn't really going to get anywhere not knowing how Josh looks like, now would I? So far I've established that he has straight, shoulder length brown hair, dark eyes, a coarsely squared jaw, and a miniature bump on his medium-sized nose. She also said that he was tall, about 6'2, with big hands.

"Well, he had a bruise at the corner of his left eye and a deep cut near his lip," Gabrielle replied. That's odd. Though it _could_ just be nothing.

I look up at her from my notepad. Yes, I was writing all this down. "How do you think he might've gotten them?" I inquire.

"I don't know, I though it looked kind of hot, but then…" Gabrielle trailed off. I interrupt her with an impatient: "Well, did you at least ask him about it?"

"He said something about a hospital, I don't know, I wasn't really paying atten---"

"Ok, what about his behavior, did he seem nervous at all, upset, anything?" I go on.

"I…. I…don't remember…I…" she falters. "Why are you asking me all this?" she says, getting frustrated.

"Well, I want to be able to identify him. I presume you want him caught, no?" I ask her, getting fed up.

"Of… of course," she replies hastily, looking taken aback, then lowers her head glumly.

"Don't worry," I say after a few seconds, "I won't let him get away with it." She looks up at me, smiling. A few seconds later she dematerializes.

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I really hate this place, creeps me out, especially since a lot of ghosts tend to hang out here. It also always smells like someone had used way too much cleaning supplies. I look up at the clock. It's twelve. I have to get back before class.

You may have not guessed it, but I'm in a hospital. I'm here to find some files on Josh. No, not legally if you're wondering. Remember how Gabrielle babbled on about some hospital he went to the day of the party? Well, I'm here to find out why. And to find out how he got those bruises, if I can, that is.

I go up to the counter. A woman clad with hospital robes and dressed with curly brown hair reclines comfortably in a black chair.

"Hi, how may I help you?" She asks, smiling.

"I really don't feel well," I reply, clutching my forehead while scrunching my face to get that I'm-in-a-lot-of-pain look, while leaning a little bit on the counter. "I think I'm going to be sick," I continue. I thank all the hospital shows I used to watch when I was really bored. It really paid off.

I look at her desk. There is a card lying there. Oh, it's not just an ordinary card. It's used to open up all the doors in this hospital, including the door to the office where all the patients' files are stashed. I need to get that card.

"Would you like to use the washroom?" she asks me. I think about it. Then I nod.

I ask her if she could show me where it is. Smiling, she gets up from her desk, and then heads off in the direction of where the washroom must be. She left her card on her desk. This just gets easier and easier, doesn't it? I snatch it and follow her. After I use the washroom---looking to see how my hair is doing, if my makeup is still on---I go back to the counter.

"Um, if you could just give me your card, I'll need to fill out some things. Then you can just take a seat over there," the woman says, pointing behind me, "and I'll call you when a doctor's available, all right?" she asks sweetly. I look behind me. A whole bunch of people are already sitting there, including one who's holding their bleeding nose with half a wad of toilet paper, and one who's lying semi-conscious on the seats, taking up half a row. Damn, I don't have time for this.

"Miss, um, I really don't feel well, would I be able to have a doctor look at me right away?" I ask hopefully. Well, I couldn't very well just sneak in. I happen to know that there are a bunch of hidden cameras at the doors that lead to the hospital wards, and, of course, the office I must get to. Also, at the moment, there were a bunch of patrol officers stacked near those same doors.

"I'm real sorry, but I can't do that," she replies. I hand her my card.

It's time to take drastic measures. I lean over until my head almost touches the floor. I then grasp her desk and pretend like I'm having trouble getting back up. Then, I use the biggest trick in the book: I faint.

I swear to god that I've never seen doctors run so fast, even though I lived in New York for most of my life. When they got me onto a stretcher, they hurried me into a ward, put me on a hospital bed, and did all the usual things doctors do in a hospital, like, check if my heart's still beating and whether I have a fever and such. Finally, when they found that nothing was wrong with me, they diagnosed me with exhaustion and decided to just let me rest. I open one eye, then the other. They were gone. Brilliant.

I get up out of bed, sneak to the door, look left, then right. Clear. I try to remember which way the office is. I head to the right, then turn left, and then turn right again. I see it. It's straight ahead. When the coast is clear, I sneak up to the door and take out the card, but before I have a chance to swipe it, someone yells:

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Shit. I turn around carefully, slowly putting the card back in my pocket. I look down at my feet. Just pretend you're invisible, I tell myself, try to blend in with wall. Maybe he won't see you. Nope, he walks right towards me. Don't lift up your head, I say to myself. I decide to stare at his feet. He has nice shoes.

"Did you hear me miss? I asked you a question," he persists, now standing right in front of me.

He lifts up my protesting chin using his index finger until my eyes meet his. Can he do that?

I notice that he is about my age, but older. What is he doing here? He couldn't possibly be working as a doctor at his age, though he was certainly good at pretending.

"I…uh…I got lost, I was...looking for the exit," I reply, flustered.

"I see," he says, looking amused. Was he mocking me?

He was a lot taller than I was, so I had to crane my neck to see his eyes, which, by the way, were inky black. I saw also that his face was framed by a collection of straight black hair that went all the way down to his neck. Hey, since I was already forced to look up at his face I couldn't help but notice these things.

"It's right over there," he says, pointing to a door ten meters to my right, which holds a sign that reads, in massive red letters, exit.

"Oh…thanks," I say, horrified, "I think I can find my way now," I say, hoping he'll leave me alone, but, no, he offers to see me out, so that I, as he jokingly says, "don't get lost again." He walks me to the door and, once I was outside, shut it in my face.

Damn. Double damn. After all I have done, all my hard work and dazzling acting skills. All wasted. I mean, how many times can they fall for the same trick?

I was _so _close, _so_ damn close. He is so going to pay for that, him _and_ his sickly smile.


	4. trouble

I realized that I forgot to say something before posting my story, sorry about that, I know how much you cherish my commentary (not). Well, I'm real glad you like my story---at least I hope you like it---and I will try to update the next chapter as soon as I can.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Run run run. Hit boy. Run run run. I skid into class. Mr. Borcowitz's sensors go crazy as they discern my presence and he fixes his laser eyes on me.

"You _are_ aware that you are late for class, are you not miss Simon?" he asks, completely aware, I'm sure, of the other students just filing into class after me. They scurry off and hastily find a seat, afraid that Mr. Borcowitz will pounce on them next, while I fall prey to his scrutiny.

"Yes, about that---" I start, about to tell of how I had to go to the hospital.

"When a student is tardy, they create a disruption which impacts their entire class," he cuts in while I roll my eyes. More students march into class. "That student takes away valuable time from their fellow pupils, time that they had paid great money to secure," he continues, a boy walks in. Then follows a long lecture about how I should now be old enough to keep my priorities straight and be more responsible, and, hear this, he told me that, as a punishment, I was to help organize some school papers and feed the campus fish for a week. Yes, we have fish. Isn't that _so_ grade school? I mean the part about him giving out punishments, not us having fish and all.

I take a seat, fuming. Mr. Borcowitz begins class.

"Now, if you completed Monday's homework you should be able to tell me the five stages a person goes through when someone close to them has died. Miss Simon, will you do us the honor?" he asks. I look up. What did he ask? I glance around, hoping a hint will fly by.

Something about five stages, stages at a theatre? No, this is sociology. It has to do with people. Five stages of people? That can't be right. Did he mention someone dying? Yeah…the stages someone goes through…stages they go through…something with death…the stages someone goes through when someone they are, um, close to, yeah that was the word, close to has died…yeah… that was it…. hmm…that kind of rings a bell…I think I read about it…that time when I had nothing else to do…

"Miss Simon?" Mr. Borcowitz says, making me jump.

"Uh, the five stages are---" I begin.

"In order, please," Mr. B. adds.

"Uh…the initial feeling is denial, then…one would feel…anger, yeah," I say excitedly as it comes to me, "…then, uh, guilt…next is…depressed…I mean depression, and, lastly, um…acceptance of death," I sound off smugly. Mr. Borcowitz, whose eyebrows lift up about two inches above his head, looks like he could really use Tylenol.

"Um, yes, that is true," he says hoarsely. After clearing his throat he repeats all I've just mentioned while adding some more detail. I smile inwardly. Happiness spreads through me like butter on warm toast.

That definitely shut _him_ up. He didn't dare ask me any more questions for the rest of the class.

Criminology: last class of the day, and, the one class where I have not yet met my teacher. But, after I saw him I wish I never had. Met him that is. His name is Mr. Bright, and, bright he is. He's so goddamn cheery it's revolting.

"Hello!" Mr. Bright says as I enter class, all smiles.

"Um…hi," I reply, momentarily paralyzed, and then I cautiously back away while hastily looking for a free seat. I take one that's way in the back so I wouldn't have to look at him.

"Hello class!" he begins in a tone that's almost clown-like---he doesn't need a microphone---all he really requires to complement his cheery clown-like self is one of those big red noses clowns are always seen wearing. All the students look petrified. One girl even started crying, although it might have been because her boyfriend just broke up with her, well, from what I could tell.

"The course, as you know, is called criminology, which really is just a fancy term for the study of crime, criminals, and criminal behavior," Mr. Bright continues, his smile widening as he looks around. The students up at the front look like they want to run for their lives. "I promise that this course will be incredibly exciting, especially since this topic is one that interests many people," he continues. Well, not anymore it doesn't.

For the next hour and a half he went on to describe why it is that people resort to criminal behavior and briefly introduced us to criminal law. When class ended every one of the two hundred students dashed out of class like frightened deer. Since I was at the very back I had to wait for everyone to leave first, so, guess who was left behind? Alone? With Mr. Bright? Oh, it's not hard. Go on. Guess. Yep, that's right. Me.

"Hey!" Mr. Bright exclaims right before I manage to sneak out the door. Damn. I turn around apprehensively and smile, hoping he'll leave me alone. Oh, no. It's nothing like that. Who would ever want to leave me alone? That kind of thing just doesn't happen. I'm just a giant walking glue stick. "Would you like to volunteer for the Cancer Awareness Parade?" he asks merrily, holding out a pamphlet.

"Um…sure," I grab the pamphlet, if only for the sole reason of trying to get him to stop talking to me, and run.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Thursday. Bad day. _Exceptionally_ bad day. I stuff the pillow over my face. I have a few options, like…I could kill myself, that's a pretty good reason explaining why I can't go to my classes. Yes, you heard that right. _Classes_. Three. My little trio. English, criminology, and psychology. God hates me. He's punishing me for being a bad mediator.

I open my eyes. They hurt. I went to sleep late. Oh, and guess why. This is good, I promise.

I was doing my homework. Ok, you can stop laughing now. I didn't do it on purpose, it just kind of happened. I swear I won't do it again.

It's ten thirty. I have class in thirty minutes. Must…Get…Up. I drag myself to the edge of the bed, and, because my body is not properly proportioned, with one side being heavier than the other, I topple over, landing on the floor. I get up, still groggy, and go wash up. I put on my brown Guess top and my brand new Aristzia jeans to match. I straighten my hair, put makeup on, look in the mirror, inspect my appearance, feel satisfied, then head off for my first class: English.

So, as I'm strolling along in the hall, expecting this to be another ordinary day, where ordinary things happen, I see, of all people, the guy who threw me out of the hospital the other day walking towards me. I stop. Seriously consider turning around and going back. Then I think, no, I have to stand tall, be confident, show him who's boss. I mean, who does he think he is? Throwing me out the way he did, and anyway, I'd be late for class. So, I resume my walking, exuding confidence as I go. That is until he looks my way.

My body keeps moving; leg follows leg, hip continues to sway, even though my mind has undergone paralysis. So much for confidence, eh?

He's looking straight at me. All I can do is fixedly stare back. You can tell that he recognizes me, but, don't get the impression that he was at all pleased to see me, I know, shocking. First, he just looks kind of shocked, but then his face adopts the expression like he's examining me, as if I'm some kind of exotic species he's never seen before. We pass each other.

A teacher opens a door and, in my stupor, I slam right into it. I can be so classy sometimes, and, yes, I did get a bruise.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Someone was knocking on the door. The dorm door. Ours. Mine and Dana's. That's a bit surprising. I walk up to the door, aggravated since I was made to get up from the couch, wondering who it might be. It was a bit strange, you know? It can't be Dana, she has a key, and we don't get any visitors.

I open the door. It's that kid. Oh, you know, the one pretending to be a doctor, who I saw earlier today.

"Um," I say, "Dana's not here," and hastily move to close the door, but, he's quicker than I am and manages to hold it open, depriving it of its frame.

"Actually, I'm looking for you. Uh…Susannah, right?" he asks. How does he know my name? What is he like stalking me now or something? I throw open the door, getting ready to interrogate him, but I guess I took him by surprise since he fell forwards, only to be caught by, well, me.

As he's leaning against me I can feel the hard muscles of his chest, his face so close to mine that I notice the brown encircling his pupils. I let go of him abruptly. He looks at me for a second, deep in though, and then goes out into the hall. I follow him, my heart running a marathon, and close the door behind me.

Before I have a chance to say anything though, he says, "you left your card at the hospital," while taking it out of his pocket and directing it towards me.

"Oh," I say, "thanks." I take it from his outstretched hand, which, I don't fail to notice, is way bigger than mine. So, he just came here to give me back my card. That's very nice of him. This also explains how he knew my name. Well, since he's done all he came to do I guess I'm free to get back to my dorm. I was about to set off---say my goodbye---when his voice stopped me.

"I'm Jesse by the way," he says, holding out his hand. It waits to be shaken, but, when it doesn't detect the presence of my hand, it falls back down, a bit disappointed. The owner sighs.

"I was wondering…" he begins. What now? I look up at him. Not at his face, but at a spot just above his chest.

When he doesn't answer I urge him on with an impatient, "Yeah?" I do have to get going.

"Why were you there?"

"Where?" I ask, talking to his neck. I knew perfectly well where, but I had to appear incredibly dense and angel innocent, that way he wouldn't suspect me of doing anything that he thinks I might have done, or, uh, wanted to do, I guess. Better to be extra safe, you never know.

"At the hospital," he finishes. A long and painful journey has come to its inevitable conclusion. The hospital…hmm…that's a big surprise. Not. What does he think I'm going to say? Oh, I just wanted to look at some private files so I could help the ghost of some girl put the guy who killed her in jail. Yeah, right. Anyway, it's none of his business. If anybody suspected me of doing anything that I obviously haven't had the opportunity to do, it would then definitely involve bigger people. You know, someone important, like the head of the police department. No one would have sent novice here to investigate, that's for sure.

"Um…I was ill, what do you think?" I ask defensively, crossing my arms over my chest. And anyway, it's not like I killed anyone or anything. Not yet, anyway.

"So…you were just strolling around the hospital to make yourself feel better, right?" he asks, in a somewhat suspicious tone.

Who does he think he is? Sherlock Holmes?

Click click click go his shoes as he walks closer to me. I look up at his face. He makes me feel really uncomfortable, like a trapped fly that is about to be eaten by the ever-approaching spider. What would he do to me if I said no?

"Um…. exactly," I reply, hoping that that would convince him.

"Then why were you looking for the exit?" he asks inquiringly, coming still closer. Tall him was now towering over minuscule me. But, don't get the impression that I was in any way afraid of him though, because I wasn't.

"Well…I was feeling better and…um… I didn't want to bother the doctors, them being so busy and all so…I decided to just let myself out," I reply. Ok, that is it, that's about all the questions I'm willing to except from this guy. I mean seriously, the nerve of him, barging into my dorm uninvited and then harassing me like this.

"I see," he says, taking a few steps back. Good, let him see, I'm done. Using the opportunity he so literally left me with when he backed away, I head off back to my dorm, and, am already grasping the doorknob when I hear him say:

"Also…"

Won't he ever _leave_? He's such a parasite.

"One of our secretaries says that she…um…_misplaced_ her card, she says she had it right up until you came, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" he asks me.

My tongue seems to have gone on vacation because I can't seem to answer for a while. Meanwhile, my mind is working full force.

He knows. He knows I have it. The card went missing at about the same time I arrived at the hospital, and, he saw me hanging around the office door, a place I can only access if I possess the special card. He just put the two together, though he obviously doesn't know what in particular I needed to find in that office.

"Um, no," I finally say. "Why would I?"

"All right then," he says, and, giving me a very grave look, says, "have a good day."

I stare after him as he walks off in the opposite direction. He definitely knows something. I must keep an eye on him, even though I don't much fancy seeing him again. Not that he's hideous, quite the contrary if you don't mind me saying so, he's just intensely frightening, in a horror-movie kind of way. I open the door, and, with that thought, shut it behind me, glad that nobody else stands in the way of it closing.


	5. lost

Thank you all for your reviews. I'm real glad you like my story, and, no, Jesse is not a mediator too, sorry about that. Anyway, hope you enjoy my next chapter. If you read it, that is. If you do read, I really really hope that you will review, because then I will know if my story sucks or not. Thank you!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Take only a fingertip amount…" I read out from the list of instructions. "…Pour into aquarium…recommended use: once daily."

My paper and fish penalty has begun. I couldn't start my sentence yesterday because Mr. B. had to have it approved. I'm sure the caretakers were all for it, I mean the part about the fish. They still get paid the same.

Let me tell you though, the campus has a lot of fish. I got back to my dorm at two, realized that I didn't finish my assignment, the one due the next day, worth only about, oh, ten percent of my mark, and sat down to work. I finished at five, went to sleep at five thirty, and Dana woke me up at six, said there was some meeting we had to go to.

She had to drag me all the way there. It was about some sort of contest, do this do that kind of contest.

Also, if you're wondering, the time before the fish feeding was spent paper organizing. The papers were mostly just a bunch of student profiles. I had to organize them all by folders. Put him in yellow folder, put her in blue folder, that type of thing.

So, you could technically say that I didn't really have time before my punishment to finish, or start for that matter, that assignment, and, you could also say that Mr. B. is a total ass. You could, couldn't you? Considering that I also have his class first thing Friday afternoon.

I walk into class. I'm early. Apparently it's also bad to come early. Mr. B. yells at me, says that being early takes time away from the previous class, who, by the way, has already left. Evidently I also distracted him from getting ready for today's lesson. He gives me another week's punishment. I take a seat and put my book out onto the table.

People start coming in. He doesn't say anything to them about being early.

Class starts.

I go to sleep.

Mr. B. calls out my name. He raises his eyebrows quizzically and seems to be waiting for something. The girl beside me whispers, "He wants to know who first developed the stages of mental growth development."

"Albert Einstein," I exclaim, loudly enough for everyone to hear, and go back to sleep.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So, are you going to do it?" Dana asks curiously as I walk back into our dorm after psychology, my last class of the day.

"Do what?" I ask, puzzled.

"Participate in the contest," she says as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What contest?" I ask. Have I been blacking out or something? I don't remember hearing anything about a contest.

"Don't you remember? We went to the meeting early this morning," she replies, looking at me as though I'm mentally unstable.

"Oh," I say, remembering something of the sort. "I…no…I don't think so…" I begin, trying to recall what the contest is about. "…I…um…why do you want to know?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Oh, no reason," she says shrugging, trying to sound indifferent. "It's just that you can win sixty grand if you get first place," she adds nonchalantly.

"Well then, why are you so eager for me to join as well? Wouldn't my not participating cut off competition for you, you know, increase your chances?" I ask amusedly, opening up a box of yogurt.

"You're my friend," she says with a note of conclusiveness. I take a spoon and begin shoving yogurt into my mouth. She's hiding something. Must investigate further. First priority though is to get some sleep, but even that is hard to come by. I remember that I have paper organizing and fish feeding again, so I trudge, infuriated and drowsy, off to do my duties.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Saturday. Finally. The day I can finally get some sleep, right? Wrong. At six in the morning Dana hauls me out of bed. She says things like cancer, help, cancer, and forces me to wake up. Is she dying?

I clumsily put on my pants, my shirt, and my shoes, while seeing various shades of blur. Lack of sleep can really get to you.

Before I can even register what is happening, Dana grabs my hand and we fly down the stairs and out the door. She shoves me in her car, turns on the engine, switches into gear, and drives. I close my eyes. They savor the action with delight.

In a few minutes the car comes to a screeching halt, the door flies open, and my body gets flung out the car. I stumble-run after Dana, who is dragging me by my hand, until we near a building. We walk in through the door, past the ribbon-type barrier, and stop. What is this place? What are we doing here?

I have no time to even look around before Dana grabs my hand again and we hurry off, entering a side door down the hall.

We enter what looks like a really big hall filled with things like chairs and tables and instruments and floats and papers. It also contains a whole collection of people bustling about. The main guy tells Dana and me to take all the chairs outside. Being completely clueless as to what I'm even doing here in the first place, I'm left with no choice but to follow his instructions.

As we're busy with the chairs Dana tells me we're here to help organize the Cancer Awareness Parade. She says it's a nice thing to do. Says she's glad we're not late. I'm too tired to say anything; I just figure I'll leave after a few hours. My eyes complain, they threaten to go on strike. I ignore them. After we're done with the chairs we take the tables out, aided by some of the more muscular guys.

After Dana and me run about busily for two hours trying to put everything in place, I open my mouth to ask her for directions back to our dorm, for I now intend to head back, when the main guy says:

"You can find out the booth number you'll be staying in for the day from the papers posted up on the wall," pointing in my direction. Everyone turns his or her head to look at the place he's pointing, including me, to see a wide collection of papers posted up. Dana, who knows fully well the traffic that is about to ensue, feverishly begins writing down her, I presume, number and dashes out of the way.

All the one hundred or so students continue to stare at the papers situated behind me, and, before I even have time to react, all one hundred of them sprint in my direction. They knock me down to the floor; I try to crawl away like a frightened worm, but they're standing over me, pushing each other over in order to see who's in which booth. Gosh, they're just so eager to help, aren't they?

Someone offers me their hand. I reach over to take it. They help me up.

"Thanks," I mutter, but then I see who it is and wish I could crawl back down.

"Oh, it's no problem," Jesse says, looking me over. "You here to help out too?" he asks.

"No," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"Uh…right," he replies. I eye him maliciously and stomp off before he can say anything more. I'm hurrying off in the opposite direction when someone grabs my shoulder and whirls me around.

"Suze, we're in different booths," Dana says apologetically.

"You know what, Dana? I think I'm going to…" I begin, wanting to tell her that I won't be staying, when something else catches my attention. "…Wait a minute…booth, how do you know which…is my name…how is my name on that list?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

"Oh," Dana starts off, "I signed you up beforehand," she concludes as though she thinks her thoughtfulness will make me want to jump for joy. Instead of, so to speak, jumping for joy though, I, getting a bit fed up with her, say:

"And you didn't even bother to ask me if I actually _wanted_ to do this?" Hey, I'm not too enthused at the idea of having to stay here for the whole freaking day handing out Cancer papers, not that I'm pro-cancer or anything, I just really wanted to have the Saturday off so I could get some relaxing time. But now it seems that that can't happen as, turns out, surprise surprise, I was signed up, without my knowing, to help with Cancer Awareness, thereby there will be no leaving and no bed visiting.

Although why do I care, really? Signed up or not, I can still leave. What are they going to do to me? Sue me for refusing to volunteer? "I don't think I'll be able to stay, I have things to do," I say contemptuously. For example: sleep.

"Oh, I…I thought it would be a great idea…I thought you'd really enjoy it…I didn't…I didn't think…I'm sorry," she starts babbling under her breath, her head down. I stare at her, crossing my arms. I have every right to be mad at her, I do, and I'm not planning to stay, even if she begs me. I won't do it, no matter what.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Give paper. Thank. They leave. Give paper. Thank. They leave. Yeah, so what? So I stayed, so sue me. Anyway, Dana is my friend, and friends help each other out, or some such thing, and, well, maybe she _was _on the verge of tears, but so what? That didn't influence me to stay, really it didn't. I'm just trying to be a supportive and caring friend.

And anyway, we share a dorm together and I don't want her to be all weird around me, and, since I'm going to be spending a lot more time with her in future years that wouldn't really be the way to go, if you know what I mean. I look at it this way, no one's feelings get hurt and I get to be real nice and helpful for a change.

So, as I'm sitting here handing out papers, a familiar voice calls out my name, then says:

"So, what did I miss?" and sits down next to me. I turn to look at, yes, him, and, annoyed, I turn back.

"Nothing really," I say, aggravated, then, getting an idea, continue with, "you know? You might just as well just leave, there's really nothing to miss staying," hoping he will find some inspiration within these words.

"Well, if you seem to think this unworthy of your time, why don't you follow your own advice?" he asks, raising his eyebrows, a smile creeping in at the corner of his mouth. Is he making fun of me?

"I would…" I start saying.

"…If you didn't have to," he finishes for me.

"That's right," I say, smirking evilly. "Why ask when you know the answer?" I ask, giving him a very annoyed look.

"Just trying to initiate conversation," he replies politely, making me even more infuriated.

"Well, you know what? Don't," I say irritably, turning away from him. I usually have a high tolerance for people, real people that is, but there's just something about him that makes me real impatient and highly annoyed with him. I think it might have something to do with the hospital-kick-out and suspicious-questioning thing, though I couldn't be sure.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier, for, uh, questioning you, I really had no business to do so," he begins saying.

"You think?" I scoff.

"I was…I was just curious, I hadn't meant anything by it," he says. I can see he's really trying. I'll give him credit for that, though he's obviously lying. I mean, he was just curious? That's about the bigger bull I've ever heard, people who "are just curious" don't look as if they're about to off you.

"Hmm…right," I say offhandedly. "So, uh, you want me to forgive you because you 'hadn't meant anything by it', right?" I ask him inquiringly, after he doesn't answer I go on, "why don't you go and find some dumb girl to tell that to because there's no way I'm buying it." He looks at me a bit surprised, as though this was something he definitely wasn't expecting, then smiles, one of those big smiles where your teeth, in this case white and straight, show and your eyes crinkle at the edges, and then he starts to laugh. My heart skips a beat and then speeds up. I tell it to shut up.

Is he taking me for a joke? He isn't taking me seriously, as if I'm some eight-year-old, a child, inferior. If I was indifferent before, which, let me tell you, I wasn't, I was definitely enraged now. How dare he treat me like I'm a moron? First, he comes to my dorm uninvited and asks me questions like he has a right to, now he's laughing at me for being pissed off about it. Well, he's got another thing coming if he thinks he's going to get away with it. I take my water bottle off the table, unscrew the lid, and pour water down his pants and onto his shirt.

"I…what are you doing?" Jesse shouts, taken aback, evaluating his now-wet image. I give him an it-was-coming look.

He looks quite mad now. Excellent.

"I'm knitting a sweater Jesse, what does it look like?" I say, getting up. The lady in front of me gets real frightened and hurries off to the next booth.

"What's this about, Susannah?" he demands heatedly, his eyebrows getting pushed together like magnets. He comes closer until he's standing over me, putting me in shadow.

"It's Suze," I say venomously, sitting back down. I turn to face the other way. I'm not even _planning_ to answer that.

He says something in another other language, Spanish, I think, and sits back down in his chair.

Even though I have no idea what he just said I'm sure it wasn't anything about how glad he is that he had the pleasure of meeting me.

"Don't turn away from me, Susannah, we're not quite done yet," he says, disregarding my remark.

Ignoring him I look up at the sky; so gray. "The sight of you makes me want to gorge my eyes out," I say, mostly to myself.

"Well, I'm not exactly dying to be in your company," he says defensively.

"Well, you're here aren't you?" I say, turning around to look at him.

"What do you mean, here?" he asks, his voice dripping with disdain.

"In this booth," I say pointedly.

"That's not by choice, Susannah, I'm sure you're aware of that," he says, though he looks at me questioningly, as though he's not sure.

"Well, I don't see you leaving, and I really hate it when you call me that," I say, turning away from him again.

"Call you what? Susannah? That is your name, isn't it?" He asks. I don't answer. A cloud passes by, gray and fluffy. "Susannah?" he asks again. Silence. I'm trying to tune him out.

Wet Jesse, seeing he won't get me to say anything more, just sits, fuming.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, handing out papers. I can hear the water dripping from his pants down onto the floor. I get the urge to laugh. I stifle it. Pretty soon the water stops its pursuit of the floor and the sun drinks up the rest still clutching Jesse's clothes.

A century passes. I forgot my watch so I have no idea what time it is. I ask a lady passing by. She says it's six. Uh oh. I'm supposed to be at the paper organizing place by seven, otherwise the lady who lets me in leaves and I have no way of getting in there, and, if I'm not there I won't live to see tomorrow and I'll be out frolicking with my ghost friends. That prospect doesn't necessarily give me a warm fuzzy feeling.

I look around. Where's Dana? I stand up, circumvent the booth and go off to search for her. God this place is huge, it will take me hours to find her, and, as is obvious, I don't have hours. I barely have one.

I return to my booth. What about a bus? Do buses go here? Do I have tickets? No for the last one. I have money. Oh, this is hopeless. I ask a fellow booth member if they know of a bus that can take me back.

"First you have to find Persia Avenue, which is right down on the other side of the building, where you take the 23 bus until Roadland Street, get off, cross to the other side, take the 36 bus until Morgan Avenue, get off, walk until Glory Street, turn left, at the next traffic light turn right, at the nearest stop sign turn left, go straight for a while, when you get to Gulper Street turn right, then you'll see a big coffee shop, you can stop and get coffee if you want, they have really amazing coffee, never tried anything like it…" she trails off.

"Um, can we get back to the directions please?" I ask, giving her my most polite look.

"…Oh, yeah, you pass the coffee shop and at the street light you turn right, walk straight, turn left at the corner, and then you just walk straight until the campus comes into view," she says. I write it all down.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"You're welcome," she says. I set off, find Persia Avenue, wait for ten minutes till the bus comes and get on. As I set foot onto the bus stair I hear thunder sounding behind me. Then the rain follows.

After I get off at Roadland Street I cross the road and wait for the next bus, getting soaked in the process. I climb onto the next bus, after a few minutes get off, and religiously follow nice lady's directions. My paper gets soaked halfway through and I can't read anything it says.

I remember something about a coffee shop. I look around. I don't see a coffee shop anywhere. To tell you the truth, I don't see much of anything. I wonder what time it is.

I remember her mentioning a lot of consequent right and left turns. So, if I had just made a left, I should now turn right. I follow my instincts and make a right at the next street corner. I see the coffee shop. Yes. Now where? Well, since I just did a right, I must now do a left, right?

I turn left, then right, then I walk straight. After a few years of walking I still don't see the campus. I'm getting cold and tired and hungry. They did feed us at the Parade, but not much, and it wasn't really something you'd actually call food.

Maybe I made a wrong turn, I should go back. I look behind me. I don't see anything. Someone calls out my name. I turn to look behind me, no one there. I look up at the sky. Is God trying to tell me something?

I hear a car horn. I look at the road. It's Dana: my savior. I climb into her car.

"Why didn't you go find me? You don't even know how to get back," Dana starts saying. "Suze, what were you thinking? Didn't you see the rain clouds? Thank god the nice gentleman at your booth told me where you had gone," she says. Nice gentleman? I look at the car clock. Shit. It's seven thirty. Have I really been out that long?

"I was getting really nervous, you know? Not knowing where you were, I went back to our dorm, but you weren't there and it was raining, I didn't know where to look…" Dana continues saying to herself.

Damn, the door is probably locked by now…the papers sitting unsorted… I'll just get in real early tomorrow morning to sort them. I'm sure no one will notice.

"…And it was getting real dark, you know? I couldn't see anything, what with the rain…"

Yeah, that's what I'll do. Better late than never, I say.

"…I just decided to follow every route to the campus and hope that I'd find you. I was getting so worried, you were out so long and it's raining…"

With Dana muttering incoherently all through the car ride we finally arrive back at our dorm.

After I take a shower and am fully ready for bed, I look at Dana and say, "thanks for finding me."

"No, it was my fault, I should have gone to see how you were doing, see if you had to get back," she says. "Are you OK?" she asks, looking up at me.

"I think I'll live," I say mockingly. She smiles.

"Well, goodnight then," she says.

"Goodnight," I say back, turning off the lights. I crawl into bed, pull the blankets up over me and close my eyes. They gleefully shoot a box of fireworks to show their appreciation.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it and please REVIEW. **


	6. huh? day

Thanks for reviewing, I really appreciate it, it must take such effort. I mean, first you have to find the box enclosing the words "submit review" situated at the bottom of the page, then, you have to press Go, then you have to write stuff and press send. It's such a pain, bet it gives you an enormous headache, yet you still do it. For me. It makes me feel all fuzzy and warm inside knowing you care that much. Well, my next chapter is up, hope you enjoy.

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_I'm running, running down a corridor I've never seen before, fog devouring my body, gripping my every inch with its powerful translucent hands, so thick I can hardly see in front of me. It's hard to breath. Why am I running? There's nowhere to go._

_All around me are doors. No windows. Looking up there is only dark sky, twinkling stars, looking down there is no floor, only blankets of fog encircling my feet. _

_Doors stretch infinitely in both directions. How do I get out of here?_

_I feel a tugging at my feet. I stop, watching in horror as the fog beneath my feet opens up to reveal a dark swirling opening. I start to run again, but I don't seem to be moving, I'm motionless. I flail my arms, trying to grab on to something, but there is nothing, and I fall._

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I awake with a jolt, gasp in a lungful of air, and look around me frantically, my head spinning. I am in my dorm. Dana is gone.

It was just a dream, I say, my heart pounding. I wipe the sweat off off my forehead. Just a dream.

I near the edge of the bed, my legs shaky, and put my feet up on the floor. My head complains; it feels as though there are a thousand needles stuck in it.

Another headache, lately I've been getting bundles of those. What fun.

Ok, just take it easy. First, I must lift ass, then, push off off bed with hands, and yes, success, I am standing, even if a little lopsided. My head is dancing circles around the room. I sway over to the closet, get on my knees, and start filing through my clothes. I put my head through something that resembles a shirt, take out a pair of pants, put them on, and don socks of two different colors. I grab my purse, and, finding the door handle, I walk to it and open the door.

I need Tylenol, I think as I put my hand out to the wall to steady myself.

I walk like a yo-yo down the hall, get down the stairs, and push open the door leading outside. I feel instantly better. The fresh air, the bright colors, the coffee shops, they all contribute to the diminishing merry-go-round ride occurring inside my head. After a few more seconds my headache is completely diminished.

Great, now what was I planning to do today? Oh yes.

I was thinking since I have been somewhat slacking off in the convicting-Josh-is-guilty-of-killing-Gabrielle department, I should dedicate this day to him. So, that's where I'm off to, to go find him.

I look at his schedule, the one I wrote down, you know, that time I told his mom I was his biology professor. She only gave me his vital commitments, like his school schedule and extra curricular activities.

I squint at the paper, the only thing Josh has today is…hmm …basketball practice…at Groves Square…in thirty minutes.

Hmm…where exactly is Groves Square?

I take out my portable city map and try to locate this Square. How many Squares are there in this city?

Maine Square…Fleuron Square…Helens Square…

Groves, where's Groves? Groves Groves Groves Groves. I can't find it. It doesn't exist.

I make my eyes focus more closely on the map. Come on, it has to exist.

There! Groves Square. No wonder I didn't see it, it's a microscopic little dot, so small that they didn't even bother putting the name right on the map, it was up over at the side. Great, now how do I get there…?

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Trees. Lot's. Of. Trees. Trees on the road, trees in back alleys, trees in backyards. No wonder it's called GROVES Square, this place is like Tree-Ville. 

OK, focus. I must find the basketball court. Swivel, turn head, swivel, turn head…there! I see it. The court. I walk towards it, half hidden by trees. I see people playing basketball.

I go into spy-mode. Right then, which one is Josh?

I root in my purse for the piece of paper with his description on it. Here it is. OK. "Straight, shoulder length brown hair…dark eyes…jaw…with a bump on his nose, small…" I read out, looking around. Which one of them is it? I move closer. None have shoulder length hair. What if he cut it?

It's _possible_.

I exhale in exasperation. This is hopeless. I sit down on a rock when I hear: "something something Josh…something something," yelled out by some kid. Hey, the keyword is Josh, it doesn't matter that I hadn't heard the rest.

I look round. Apparently, someone new has come, someone with shoulder length brown hair, dark eyes…wait, it's _him_, it's Josh, _the_ Josh. It has to be.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," I hear Josh say to one of the guys. He looks quite normal, like someone you might actually be friends with. Too bad he enjoys killing people as a hobby, we could have really hit it off.

Well, what do I do now? I hadn't really planned this through. Go me.

Hmm …got it.

I walk out onto the court and pretend like I'm crossing it. I pause at the basketball net, pretending to look for something. This _really_ might not work. A few minutes pass and still I stand, still looking for that invisible non-existent thing that seems to hold so much value for me otherwise I wouldn't be standing here looking like a dork trying to find it.

Someone throws the ball, missing the net, but I'm so busy staring into space, trying to think up of another way I can get Josh alone, that I don't see it. The ball hits me right in the chest. Ok, that really hurt. When your plan works, it's not supposed to hurt. I was supposed to pretend like it hit me, not _let_ it hit me. Oh well, its not so bad, I'll live. The tricky part now is that I have to make them believe I'm mortally wounded, or at least badly hurt, so that someone, preferably Josh, takes me to a clinic or something. So, summoning up my acting skills, I drop down onto the floor and scrunch my face up in pretend pain.

All the guys hurry towards me. Hmm…this is a great way to get dates.

"Are you ok?" the really tall one asks me.

"I don't know," I mutter, looking really pained. "It really hurts," I say, pointing to my ribs. They all stand around me, not knowing what to do. I close my eyes. "I can't breathe, you might have punctured my lung," I say, getting desperate.

"We need to take her to the hospital," a kid with blue eyes says. Yes, yes, that is exactly what I need.

I was trying to think up of ways of getting Josh in particular to take me, when I hear him say:

"I'll do it."

And I stop thinking. That's a brilliant idea.

I nod, trying not to look too eager. He helps me up, and, with him half-carrying me I manage to stagger all the way to his car, clutching my chest as I go.

He's actually very nice, I think as I look at him, which makes it really hard to believe that he could have killed anyone. But hey, I guess you can never know.

I watch him as he opens the door for me, trying to match his description with what Gabrielle told me. The straight shoulder length brown hair, the dark eyes, they were all there, even the bruises she'd described, though now only faintly visible. 

He begins driving. I still pretend to be in pain, forcing my eyes closed while taking short breaths.

"Are you all right?" he asks, driving a little faster. "Do you need me to call an ambulance, because---" he starts saying, his voice getting a bit panicky.

"No, it's ok," I say hurriedly. "The pain seems to be going away," I say, giving him a weak smile. Hey, I don't want him to think that I'm dying, though I don't know if he'd really care. He does sound worried. Might be an act though.

"Uh…all right," he says, smiling back at me. My heart gives a guilty little jolt. I'm trying to ruin this guy's life, put him in jail, and he's being so nice to me.

It's just an act, I say to myself. He killed someone. This guy _deserves_ to go to jail.

"I'm Josh," he says, giving me a lopsided smile.

"Oh…uh…I'm Suze," I say.

"It's nice to meet you, Suze," he says, and then looks away, back to the road. "We're here now," he says after a few seconds, parking the car.

We go in through the hospital doors, and, once inside, he assists me into a seat and goes up to the front counter. In a few minutes he comes back and starts helping me up.

"Oh, do they need my card?" I ask, hurriedly opening my purse.

"No, that's fine, I've already paid them," he says. He did WHAT? Why would he do that?

"I…um…I…thank you," is all I manage to say. "You…you didn't have to, I could've just---" I begin saying, but he cuts me off with:

"Don't worry about it."

We go in to see the doctor. Technically, _I_ go in to see the doctor while Josh just waits outside, but whatever, same thing.

"Umm…Suze," the doctor says, looking at a piece of paper. "What seems to be the problem?" she asks, looking up at me.

"I was hit in the chest," I begin saying. "With a basketball," I add hurriedly. She looks over at me.

"Yes, I am aware of the situation," she starts saying. "Are you feeling any pain?" she asks, studying my face. "You don't look too well."

"I don't?" I ask. Did the ball really hit me that hard?

"No, you look rather pale," she says, coming closer to me. She begins feeling my ribs.

"Does that hurt?" she asks.

"No," I say. After a few minutes of her feeling my chest area, with me replying "no" to any of her "do you feel any pain" questions, she takes out her stethoscope and feels my breathing.

"Your breathing's fine," she says, and after a few seconds asks, "How are you feeling?"

"I feel better now," I say, giving her a smile.

"Well, everything seems to be normal," she says.

"Umm, Ok," I say, getting up, "as long as nothing is broken."

"Yes," she says. "My only suggestion is that you get some rest, and if you feel any sort of pain in the next few days you're more than welcome to come back for another check-up."

"Ok," I say.

"Well, Bye for now," she says.

"Bye," I reply back, walking over to the door. I open it and see Josh waiting for me, a troubled expression on his face.

"She says I'll be fine," I say, "nothing seems to be broken."

He looks relieved.

"That's great," he says, and after a short silence continues awkwardly with, "well…I guess I'll just drive you home then."

"Yeah," I reply.

We drive back in silence and pretty soon we arrive at my dorm building.

"Well, here you are," he says, coming to a stop.

"Thanks," I say, trying to sound pleasant. It's hard. "For, for everything," I add.

"It's all right," he says, giving me a slight smile. I close the door and start walking up the stairs when I hear Josh's voice.

"Hey Suze," he shouts out. I turn around to face him. He has gotten out of his car and is now running up the stairs, trying to catch up to me.

"Yeah?" I ask curiously.

"How…how would you like to…um…have some dinner sometime?" he asks nervously.

I _was_ planning something different for our next encounter, but hey, this is good too.

"That would be great," I say, looking extra-happy, "though I'm kind of busy during the week."

"Oh, that's all right," he says, "are you free on Saturday?"

"Saturday is fine," I say,

"So, I'll pick you up at seven," he says in a questioning tone.

"Seven," I say, smiling. "Well…bye for now."

"Bye," he says, and I march up the stairs and in through the door.

Perfect.

As I near our dorm door I see Dana standing there with some guy.

"Um…Hi," I say to no one in particular, an amused expression on my face.

No one says anything back. OK. I must have come at a bad time.

"Well I guess I'll get going then," the guy says. "Bye."

He stalks off.

Dana opens the door and we both walk in.

"Well?" I start off.

"Well what?" Dana says evasively.

"Well who was that?" I ask. What does she think, that I'm stupid?

"No one," she says indifferently.

"Oh, really, I could have sworn that I saw someone," I say sardonically.

"He's just some guy," she says casually. I raise my eyebrows.

"Some guy…what did he want?" I ask, being annoyingly persist.

"He asked me out…and…well, I said no," she says simply, as though she went chicken shopping but didn't buy any because she didn't like the brand.

"You said no? Why'd you say no?" I ask incredulously.

"It wouldn't last," she says, giving me a meaningful look.

"How do you know that?" I ask in a disbelieving voice.

"I just know," she says, pausing between each word. I stare at her questioningly. "I'm not staying long enough…mumble mubble mubble mubble."

"What do you mean you're not staying long enough? You've still got, like, four years," I say.

"No, after one I'm gone," she says as though it's obvious. She pretends to be writing something.

"What do you mean you're gone? Where are you going?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

"I just don't feel like this University is the right place for me," she replies.

"But…but I thought you love your courses, you are always raving about them," I say in argument.

"No, I was just pretending, trying to convince myself that I liked them, but it couldn't be farther from the truth…I…I can't keep doing this," she says, her voice breaking. "I have to go," she says, and storms out of the room.

Dana doesn't like her courses? Pretending? Something's going on with her, this is not right.

Has she gotten pregnant? Is that it? Maybe she's joined a mafia.

I look over at her table for clues. Bunch of papers. I walk over to it. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. Hmm…what is this?

"We are sorry to tell you that your loan has been denied…blah blah blah," I read out. I pick up the next paper. Same thing. The next. Same. Next. Same. They all decline her request for a loan.

Then it hits me. She's leaving not because she doesn't like her courses but because she can't pay for her tuition.

Then I remember something…the contest, the sixty grand, wouldn't that pay for her tuition? But for some reason she asked me if I was going to join. Why would she ask me to join?

Think meeting, what did they say at the meeting. I come up blank.

Well, maybe she _can't_ join…maybe…maybe they don't allow smart people to join…maybe…then it comes to me…maybe they don't allow people with _scholarships_ to join.

I assemble all these bits of information together to form a large sentence in my head: she can't join the contest herself, so she wants _me _to enter and win her the money so she can pay for her tuition.

She needs that money. I start pacing the room. She deserves it more than anybody else. More pacing. I won't let her quit. I'm going to ensure that she finishes University.

I have made a decision, one I know I'm not going to like. I've decided that I'm going to enter the contest, for Dana, and try my hardest to win.

I walk out of our dorm and go off searching for her.

I never really appreciated how large our University actually is. Never. Now I do. I got really tired just walking down the hall. As I near the next hallway, I see a big sign informing people where the contest sign-up place is. Maybe she's there, at the sign-up place, though I'm not sure why. Well, I don't know where else to look, really, so I just head there.

As soon as I arrive, I start looking around for Dana. Gosh, there are so many people here. It's going to be pretty hard to find her, if she's even here that is.

I see her standing in line. I push, kick, and shove trying to get through the crowd without taking my eyes off off her. When I reach her I swivel her around to face me.

"Suze?" she says, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "Why…why are you here?" she asks, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"To talk to you about the contest," I say breathlessly. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, and then this comes out:

"SuzeI'mreallysorry, I hadn'tmeanttodoit, Iwasdesperate, Ineverconsideredyour feelings. Ididn'tknowwhatelsetodo, Imeanofcourseyouwouldneverwanttodothis, Iwassostupid, butdon'tworrybecause…because I'm un-signing you right away, " she says.

"What, what are you taking about? Un-signing me from what?" I ask.

"The…the contest," she looks at me questioningly, "that I signed you up for…that…that…" then she stops. "You never knew that I signed you up, did you?" she asks, knowing fully the answer.

"No, but I want to…wait…you signed me up for it? Without even asking me?" I start saying, but then I remember why I'm here. "Dana, although it's wrong to sign people up for things without them knowing, I don't want you to un-sign me, I'm going to win you the money---"

"Suze, I'm really sorry, I know you're mad, but you have to listen to me, I didn't kno--- wait, what did you say?" She asks, looking at me as though I'm the most amusing thing she's ever seen.

"I said I'm going to win you the money," I repeat.

"You, you know about…you will? You'll do it? Oh Suze," she says, hugging me. "I can't believe you'd do that that is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me I don't know what to say you are the nicest person I've ever met you are so cool I will buy you ice cream for the rest of your life you are so great…" she rattles on. And on. And on.

We head back to our dorm, with Dana attached to me like sticky tape and muttering that she will love me forever and marry me if only I were a man, but that if I really wanted to marry her she would regardless of my lacking male counterparts.

We finally reach our dorm. Dana un-sticks herself from my body and starts talking about the contest and says how it will be hard but she will help me because I'm "so nice." She gives me a sheet of paper, she says I have to complete everything on the list, and, if I do the best job out of everyone, I will win.

Sound simple enough, right?

That's what you think, but wait until you hear what I have to do.

Part of to do list:

Participate with helping in the Cancer Awareness Parade, (So that's why Dana dragged me there.) or, The Gay Parade.

Learn something new, i.e. something that you can present to the judges at the end of the contest.

Get high grades, 90+.

Do something nice for your community. (Does helping a ghost count?).

Help out a friend. (Good one).

Try something different. (They're so detailed I could die).

And on and on it goes…

This is like a treasure hunt. The only catch is that you must complete all the things on the list with more thoughtfulness, more creativity, and more care than anybody else in order to win.

It doesn't matter who finishes first.

Dana gave me another piece of paper that talks about helping each other out or something like that, but I'll read it later. I have to call my mom since I kind of did promise to call her.

She says she misses me and wants me to come back, then talks about how fun and exciting her week has been, then says it would have been better if I was there, and then starts listing the most peculiar and exciting things that have happened and I had missed but would have loved to have been a part of. Those peculiar---exciting for her---things include Dopey getting good marks, Doc getting a girlfriend, and so on.

Conversation ends, I hang up.

Someone is knocking on our door.

Dana left, so she can't open it, unless she does it spiritually, so I'm forced to get up and walk to the door and open it. I see who it is and stand mute with surprise. The song, "I hate everything about you," starts playing in my head, without the next part. _Definitely_ without the next part.

"Hello," hated being says.

"Jesse, what a surprise," I say in a fake-pleasant voice. "OK, what do you want?" I ask, my face adopting a screw-off expression.

"Well, we must start planning what we're going to do," he says.

"Do for what?" I ask, annoyed. Am I going to jail for spilling water on his pants?

"For the contest," he says obviously, then, seeing the confused expression on my face, he explains, "we're partners."

Still confused. "Partners?" I ask stupidly.

"The people in charge of the contest want us to work in partners, thus they partnered up all the participants, and, by some chance, I ended up as your partner," he says all of that real slowly, as though I'm mentally incapable of understanding what he says. "Did you bother looking at the second paper? The one that mentions the partnership?" he asks inquiringly.

Apparently not.

He also says that your partner's name is written at the bottom of that page.

I find the page and scroll down to the bottom. It says: partner, Jesse. He's not lying.

I can't move.

A thought suddenly appears in my head: I have to work with _this_ for the next five months. I need _this_ to help me win. Dana needs _this_ to finish University.

_I_ want to die.


	7. one two step

So, my next chapter is up…and…well…read it…and…um…review and…review…and I will like…update sooner, so yeah.

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"We have to learn something new…" Jesse says, reading off the list.

We're sitting on the carpet of my dorm planning what we'll be doing for the contest. I've gone numb and am only capable of listening to him talk. "How about we learn how to dance?" he asks. I look at him. He's being serious.

"I don't think so," I manage to say a few seconds later, my voice finding courage.

"Well, what do you prefer then, juggling?" he asks sarcastically.

"Actually, I do," I say, picking up two apples from the fruit basket. "It's not so hard," I say, trying to shift them from hand to hand like I'd seen a clown do one time on television. I drop them both. I pick them up from the floor and try again. I drop them. "It might take some practice," I say. He looks up at me in a frightened sort of way, as though he thinks I might've snapped and gone completely mental.

I hand him two apples. "Well, go on, start practicing," I say. "We do want to win."

"Susannah," he says, giving me a frightened, semi-amused smile. "I don't think this is going to work, and anyway, you're going to ruin the apples," he says, putting his apples back into the fruit basket. I look down at him as though he had just ruined my dream, my life plan.

"I'm not dancing Jesse, it's so degrading," I say. "People are going to laugh at me."

"Do you have a better idea?" he asks me, raising his eyebrows.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

That is how we ended up in here, at Louis Dance Studios, signing up for, cry, Latin dancing. Why do we have to do a Latin dance piece, can't we learn something much more reserved, less touchy, like the hokey pokey?

WHY LATIN DANCING?

Today, as well as our sign up day, is also our first lesson. I hadn't thought of wearing a skirt, since I had no idea, but I managed to borrow a pair of high heels from the dance studio that I can barely walk in. I stumble onto the dance floor with Jesse just as our instructor comes towards us.

"My name is Boris and I vill be helpin' you," our instruction starts off. "OK, no time to vaste, go stend in ze middle," he commands. "Nov, I vant ye to hold 'er like zes, your arm arund 'er, don' be 'frade to touch 'er." He grabs Jesse's hand and puts it around my waist, then grabs the other and slams in down on my shoulder. "Nov you," he says, looking at me. He shoves me into Jesse until my chest is pressed against his--- even though he is much taller than me, the miracle shoes allow me to be almost head-to-head with him---chest. "You haf to be clozer to 'im, don' be 'frade, righ?" he gives me a smile.

"Right," I say.

My heart has gone mad. It has started to beat like crazy. I beg it to calm down otherwise Jesse will hear, but it won't listen; it has never been this close to a human boy before.

"Ok, nov, you mus' tek step back, dan to side…" Boris rattles out while he demonstrates. I try to follow what he does, but I can't move in the shoes and almost topple over backwards. Thankfully Jesse pulls me back up. "No, dis no righ, you look like big fish, you mus' move yer hips, yer hips not trees, they haf motion, you do motion," he says, taking my hips in both his hands and moving them from side to side, trying to reveal to me that my hips do, indeed, have motion.

We try again, I try to move my hips this time but end up tripping over my shoes again.

And again.

And again.

I even step on Jesse a few times. My dancing attempt makes me look as though I really have to go to the washroom.

"Yer posture is no good, you mus' stand straigh', no like chicken, you lady," he says, going into the back room. He comes back with a big piece of wood, which I think might have at one point been used as back support for people with back injuries. He puts the big wooden thing on me, tying it up in the front. "_Nov_, you haf good posture," he says.

_Now_, I think I'm going to die.

Jesse tries hard to keep himself from laughing. I hold onto him for dear life, the wooden thing is really heavy and I'm afraid of falling over backwards. "Zere, good, nice an' cloz," Boris says. I've never been so mortified in my life. Both my cheeks start a fire. I try looking away from Jesse's face, down at the floor, but the wood doesn't allow me to move my head.

I don't know even know where I'm moving my feet.

We start doing the steps again and I keep tripping over my feet, making a complete ass out of myself. "OK, nov," Boris says, looking extremely pained by our dancing. He stands back a bit, watching us. I think he's afraid to go near us, probably thinking he'll catch the I-can't-dance-for-my-life virus from us, or something. "You mus' bend 'er back backwards an' do circle motion wit 'er back," he says.

What? I'm not elastic band; you can't just bend me backwards whenever you feel like it.

I also happen to have wood on my back. Do I look like I can be bended backwards? I don't think so.

Boris seems to feel the same way because in a few seconds the wood comes off.

Still, there's no way you're bending me backwards.

Oh, it's not like Jesse doesn't try.

The first time he does, though, I almost fall over backwards. The second time I trip over his feet but manage to grab onto his shirt and prevent my falling on my face. The third time he tries to lower me down first then bend me backwards, but I end up almost falling sideways.

Boris shoves Jesse aside and grabs me, demonstrating what he means. He forcibly bends my back and twirls it around as though I'm a rag doll; my head flaps behind me like a sheet. He doesn't even look at me as he does it, but stares at Jesse as though he---our instructor---is possessed.

"You hold 'er tight, see?" he says. Jesse nods. We try it again. Jesse bends me more this time and I'm pushed much lower down. I lose my balance and grab onto Jesse's shirt. Jesse gets pulled down with me. My one leg is in the air. I'm falling. The hand of God grabs Jesse, who then manages to pull me back up, and I end up about a quarter of an inch from his face and from his…well his lips. I flush bright red. Jesse pulls back, apologizing, even though it was kind of my fault.

"Ok, zat is enuf fer today," Boris says disgustedly, then turns to me. "You mus' stand on wall four time a day and practice what I show. Good, you can go now," he says, giving us a smile.

I return the shoes.

As we exit the studio, Jesse says, "I'm sure we'll get better, we're just beginning."

"Uh huh," I say, unconvinced. "When it snows in Kenya."

Jesse gives me a piercing stare. "Don't be so pessimistic, Susannah," he says, opening the passenger-side door of his car for me. I get in.

I really need my own car.

Jesse continues to stare at me. "What?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest while slumping into the seat a bit. I look out the window, trying to avoid his gaze.

"You're going to need to get shoes," he says simply. "Preferably not as high as the ones you wore today."

"Yes, I know," I say, continuing to stare out the window. A sheep-shaped cloud whizzes by.

"Do you know that we have to have one of our lessons on tape?" he asks me.

No. I did not.

I sit up straight and look up at Jesse incredulously.

"You mean, people are actually going to see me trying to dance with a board on my back?" I ask him, my eyes widening.

He looks at me, smiling. "Yes, how else would the judges know that we weren't dancers beforehand if we don't show them how bad we were when we just started?"

"I don't care, Jesse. No one, and I mean no one, is going to see me trying to dance looking as though I'm dying to go to the washroom with…with a tree on my back," I retort, my voice rising up the octet.

"It doesn't look so bad," he says, though I can see him looking incredibly doubtful, as though he's trying to convince himself.

I slump back into the chair, fuming. "You know?" I say after a few seconds, "all of this is your fault, you're the one who _chose _to do this…to…to humiliate me in front of everyone. If it wasn't for you, I'd be learning something more practical, like how to paint walls."

Jesse ignores me. I continue to stare at the clouds. It's really hot in here. I take off my top shirt but it doesn't help. What do you want from me, body? I can't take off my tang-top, so you better deal with it. I open the window and stick out my head. Water…need some water…water, I start humming in my head. I'm heating up like a big piece of metal rotting in the sun.

Jesse sees me melting and says, "Do you want me to open the air conditioner?"

"Yes, that would be nice," I say, closing the window. The cool air rushes at me, bouncing off my skin. It's not helping. I look at the back seat. There's a whole collection of water bottles. I grab one, open the lid, and pour water down my face. Water goes down my shirt. The heat subsides.

Jesse looks at me as though I've just grown another head. "What are you doing?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in the way that says he thinks I'm a complete head case.

"I'm watering myself," I say, "really hot…"

I have stopped heating up. I drink some water.

Jesse just rolls his eyes upwards in a way that says: I will never understand you.

We arrive at my dorm building, or, our dorm building, or whatever. Apparently he lives there too.

I climb up the stairs and we part halfway up.

I open my dorm door and close it, shutting out all the rest of the world with relish. I have blisters on my feet. I'm going to have to get padded shoes.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Monday. First day of week. Whole week to go. Lot's of Mr. Borcowitz to see. Lot's more fish to feed and papers to organize. Not that I hadn't been it doing it before, but somehow this reminds me that I still have a week or so to go.

After English I go into Sociology. Mr. Borcowitz says he wants to talk to me. He asks me why I wasn't organizing papers on Saturday, and, oops, hadn't come in early the next morning to do it. I told him that I came home really late on Saturday because I was helping to organize the Cancer Awareness Parade and was real tired in the morning and only woke up at three in the afternoon, so I just decided to stay double time---no I didn't---to organize the papers instead of going there twice. He said that that wasn't an excuse and told me to go sit down. I did as told, thankful that I didn't get another week.

I decide to listen really carefully today. Mr. B starts talking. Five minutes into his lecture he stops.

"Miss Simon?" Mr. B says. I look up from my paper, which I'm using in order to write down the stuff he says. "What is the role of a family?"

"Well, theoretically the role of a family is to provide stability, support and a sense of security, to encourage learning and serve as a communication circle. It is supposed to allow an individual to find their identity---"

"An amateur answer, one that is lacking in theory," Mr. B says, cutting me off, and then points to some guy who looks like he hasn't gotten a week's sleep.

"Um…they do things with each other…and…are there," the guy says, screwing up his face in concentration. I didn't know thinking could be so painful.

"You mean family members are always there for each other?" Mr. B asks. The guys nods and goes off to sleep. Mr. B continues, "yes, that's right, families try to provide a supportive hand when…" and begins a major lecture.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I bought shoes. They're sitting in a little box in the corner. They're nice shoes, golden, with a one and a half inch heel, an open middle and a cone-shaped cut-out at the front that lets you stick out your toes.

We have dance four times a week. On Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday.

I go to the corner, take them out and parade myself around the room. They're nice. It took me half an hour to pick them so they better be. I try to practice the move Boris was showing us the other day when I hear someone knocking. I try to pretend I'm not home. The knocking doesn't go away.

I open the door. It's some kid I don't know. He's about six feet tall, tanned, with curly brown hair and sea-blue eyes. He says, "Is Dana here?" I say, "no." He says, "Right then, do you know when she'll be back?" I say, "no." He says, "All right then, thanks, can you tell her that I'll come back later?" I nod. He says, "bye."

Then he leaves.

This guy isn't the same as the one I saw the other day who supposedly asked Dana out. What is this? How does Dana, who spends all her time studying, get two guys, while I can't even get one? Well, yes, I do have a date, but why can't I get someone decent? Like, someone who _doesn't_ kill people.

When Dana comes back I ask her about it, leaving out the part about me dating a psychopath. She says the guy who came today is in her class; they're doing a project together.

I told her he'd be back later.

She walks to the door, saying it would be much easier if she just went down to his dorm now, and leaves. She comes back late.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"No, you do wron' again," Boris says. "You mus' first move foot back, dan to side, not opposite." I'm getting really fed up. My feet are aching, my back is complaining, and my head hurts. Boris says I move like a duck. I say why doesn't he try dancing in high heels. That shuts him up for awhile.

"Suze, you beautiful girl, but you mus' do what I say, you can't invent new, is not dance," Boris says patiently.

"I'm trying," I tell him, forcing a smile. He moves away from me, horrified. I guess I'm real scary when I smile.

I accidentally step on Jesse again.

I think I'm really getting the hang of walking in high heels, I mean, I only stepped on Jesse about ten times, which is way better than two days before, when I stepped on him fifteen times.

After dance class I go over to Jesse's dorm so we can figure out what we should do for the next couple of things on the contest list.

"Ok," Jesse says, "do something nice for your community."

"I could volunteer somewhere," I suggest.

"How about we organize a fund raiser?" Jesse says, ignoring me.

"I guess that could work too," I say, dejected. "Fund raiser for what?" I ask.

"For sick children," he says. I nod. Good, let him do all the thinking. "We could make brochures and…" he goes on. I tune him out.

He says that we're going to be taping ourselves tomorrow. I pretend to be amused.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Today all the guys were drooling because Ms. Palor wore a low cut blouse. Ms. Palor was teaching us about Freud and his theory of defense mechanisms.

"…displacement is the redirection of energy from a forbidden object to a more socially acceptable one. For example, an attraction to a married person may be displaced to some other activity, like playing a musical instrument…"

Example of displacement: Josh, who has a tendency to kill people, tries to displace that tempting activity to playing basketball instead, which is a more socially acceptable activity.

"…divided into three, the id, the ego, and the superego…most of the ego is visible…id is the pleasure principle…the superego is society's values…

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"No, you mus' go to side, not to imaginary derection," Boris says. 

"I would if Jesse actually did something," I retort.

"So, now everything is my fault," Jesse says.

"Of course it is," I say. "You're not even holding me properly."

The camera rolls, catching not our dancing, but our dramatization.

We try again. The board pulls me backwards and I lose my balance. I try to grab onto something, I decide that Jesse's head will do. Jesse doesn't seem to think so and tries to unhook my fingers from around his head. I substitute, grabbing his shirt instead, but my fingers slip and I fall. I land on my ass for the seventh time now.

"You see, if he held me properly, I wouldn't be losing my balance," I say, frustrated.

"Well, if you weren't always stepping on my feet, maybe I would," Jesse retorts defensively.

"Well, maybe if you had smaller feet I wouldn't be stepping on them," I shout.

"Well, maybe if you could coordinate your movements I wouldn't need to have smaller feet."

"Well, maybe if…maybe if…" I run out of things to say. "Maybe if I had a nicer partner, I might actually try harder to coordinate my movements so I wouldn't have to step on his big feet and lose my balance," I say in one breath. "I mean, out of all people, why did I have to be partnered with you?" I say disgustedly. Jesse doesn't seem to know either because he doesn't say anything, which is good. I like silence.

Throughout the rest of our lesson I concentrate on trying to not step on him, or fall.

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"So, who's Josh?" Dana asks me as I walk into our dorm.

"What do you mean?" I ask her.

"A Josh came to our dorm, he wanted to give you this," she says, handing me my portable map.

"Oh," I say, completely unaware that I'd dropped it.

"Well?" she says. "Who is he?"

Sneaky Dana.

"Why are you so curious? He's just some guy," I say, giving her the same treatment I'd received when asking about her guy-date-friend.

"Did he ask you out?" She asks curiously, an amused expression on her face.

"Maybe," I say evasively.

"Did you maybe say yes?" she asks smilingly.

"I maybe said yes," I reply, turning sideways to look at her. "What about you and your mystery guy? What's going on in that department?"

"Oh nothing, I hadn't seen him for a while," she says. I have no way of knowing if this is true or not, but I have no evidence proving otherwise.

"Maybe he couldn't live without you and jumped off a bridge," I say jokingly. Dana smiles.

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Gabrielle comes to visit me on Friday. I tell her that I'm progressing on the convincing-that-Josh-is-guilty-of-killing-her-and-finding-evidence thing when I hear someone knocking on the door. Gabrielle dematerializes as I open it.

"Hi," Jesse says, looking around curiously.

I don't say anything.

"To whom were you talking to just now?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

"My friend," I reply. He looks around again, raising his eyebrows and giving me a quizzical look. "Well, she just left," I say curtly, in reply to his confused expression.

"Oh, and I suppose she exited through the secret door in the washroom," he says jokingly.

"Ha ha," I say dryly. I look around and, "she went out the window," comes out off the top of my head. Well what? I couldn't think of anything else, plus that would be the only alternate route to take.

"Yes, of course," Jesse says, as though he thinks it's a valid and an everyday normal answer, like, who doesn't exit through windows? He cocks his head to one side, examining me. You could see he thinks that I'm just a little unhinged, or, like that song, unwell. Maybe he assumes that the pressure of everything is finally getting to me.

"Well…she's a mountain climber," I add quickly. "She says it's good practice," I say, my voice squeaking. What does he think, that I'm imagining her? That she doesn't exist? Well…in a way she really doesn't…but…

"OK," he says, looking a bit frightened. "I…are we going?"

Out of momentary stupidity I go, "Where?" Even though I am fully dressed in my skirt and dance shoes.

"To dance class," he says, looking at me as though questioning my sanity.

"Ok, right," I say, walking out of my dorm and closing the door behind me.

**A/N: REVIEW**


	8. Oh no

Sorry it took so long to update. I'm really busy, what with Calculus and English, which I'm failing by the way. The English, I mean, which is pretty funny considering what I do on my free time (i.e. write), but hey, what can I do? Anyway, I hope you enjoy my next chapter. Happy reading.

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"I can't believe I'm doing this," I say to Gabrielle, who is staring at me, apparently thinking the same thing. I'm inside an old banquet hall, which, let me say, is located in the middle of nowhere country-land. The place is so freaking old that even its name is unreadable. All I can see is a scratchy letter B printed on the entrance. It's also completely deserted and probably burned down a few times.

"This is the place," she says. "This is where I was…where I was…where…"

"Yeah, I get the point," I say. This is where she was killed. Thisis the "somewhere quieter" that Josh had led her to. Wow, he's so romantic, couldn't have found a nicer place anywhere. I mean, the smell of burnt wood, the crumbling walls, and the cobwebs glued onto every inch of the building can really fulfills a girl's dreams. Gabrielle must have been real excited by the prospect of this scenery. It's quite intense, and also very lovely, I must say.

"But I don't understand why you'd bother coming here, the police must have already collected all the evidence," Gabrielle says confusedly. I don't know why I bother either.

"That may be true, but there might be something here that could help us," I say, unconvinced by my own words. I take out my flashlight and direct it towards the left corner, "something the police wouldn't have bothered to confiscate, and, anyway, have you seen how much time they actually spend at the crime scene? It's like next to nothing."

I get down on my knees and direct the light at the floor. I start moving along the floorboards, with my hands, gloved, feeling along; searching. My jeans are getting stained from the dirt on the floor. Gosh, if they're not going to use this place they might as well tear it down.

"No, they'd have spent more time on me, daddy would have made sure of it," Gabrielle says confidently. "He would make sure that whoever killed me was punished."

"Uh huh," I say distractedly. "Sure he would." I move up towards the right-hand wall. "Is Josh fond of poker," I say questioningly, pulling out a torn game card from a hole in the wall. I unfold it. It's a Jack, and he's holding a lighter. How unique.

"I'm not sure," Gabrielle says, looking over my shoulder at the torn Jack game card. He looks quite menacing. I put him in a little plastic bag, which I shove into my purse. "Do you think it could be useful?" she asks.

"Dono," I say, all the while thinking the card is completely useless, I mean, why would Josh stick a game card in the wall before he killed Gabrielle? It just makes no sense.

I continue searching, moving back down to the floor.

After two hours, yes, two hours, I come out with just a torn card game, a piece of paper with the word "grad" written on it, and, most importantly, a few hairs. I know. I've never been so glad that shedding exists.

I have plans for those hairs. Those hairs will go a long way, they will.

I hope they're all from one person.

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"So, you're saying that the doctor you met with forgot to take the hair sample from you?" the nice lady in a green suit is asking me. I'm at the hospital, the lab portion of the hospital.

"That's right," I say boldly.

"So, you called to tell him he forgot the sample and he said…" the nice lady says, having trouble regurgitating what I've just told her.

"He said that since he'd forgotten to take the hair sample I should, instead of bringing it to him, just give it directly to the lab. He said it would be easier this way because he'd have to take the samples down to the lab anyway," I remind her.

"I see, and, um, exactly which doctor are we talking about here?" she asks.

"Dr. Krendle," I say. I had heard his name shouted out in numerous occasions across the hospital waiting room, I've never really had any sort of appointment with him. Dr. Krendle seems real busy, thus he'll probably never realize that he didn't have any appointment with me.

"Oh, and the hair sample, what's it for?" She asks me.

"Oh, I want to find out who the father is, of course," I say shyly.

"The father of who?" She asks.

"The father of my baby," I say obviously. "I just found out I'm pregnant," I say, giving out a fake little chuckle.

"Oh, I see," the lady says, giving me a semi-frightened smile, "But, uh, wouldn't it be easier if you just got a saliva sample of the questionable fathers? And, uh, you'd also want to give in a DNA sample of the baby," she tells me informingly.

"Oh, I was only with one person," I begin to say, "I was just real drunk at the time and I can't even remember how the guy looks like, much less the guy's name. The hair sample is the only thing I've found at my apartment, which, I'm pretty sure, is his. I don't have many friends over," I say in explanation. "All I need for you to tell me is his name, so that I can contact him and tell him about the baby," I continue saying, loads of bull just flowing out of me as though I'm a talking water-fountain. I hope she doesn't aspire to call teen-control services, if that even exists.

"Right then," the lady says, taking my hair sample in it's little baggy, where I've also attached my phone number, "well, have a good day," she says, and starts turning around in an attempt to get back into the lab, where she was before I'd interrupted her.

"Oh, and Dr. Krendle said you must report the results directly to me," I say, "it won't be necessary to put it out on paper or send it to anyone else, not even Dr. Krendle himself," I add, hoping she'll go with it.

"Yes, of course," she says, "we'll give you a call as soon as we've got the results." She heads back into the lab.

I sigh in relief. She bought it, all of it. The so-called appointment I had had with doctor Krendle and the whole, I can't-remember-who-the-father-of-my-imaginary-baby-is-because-I-was-too-drunk-at-the-time. I just hope nobody finds out I lied, that would be bad, real bad, like my-life-is-over bad. The thing is, I want to find out the owner of those hairs, that's why I took them to the lab, thus the whole story about the doctor and the baby, how else would I get them to tell me the name of the hair's owner?

I do realize that the hairs could just belong to some random guy, but maybe, _maybe_, they could be Josh's. That would really help advance our case against him.

I head off to my dorm.

I have to sort papers and feed fish and get ready before my so-called date.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Remember when I told you that I mostly sort through student profiles at paper organizing place, well, apparently, there's also some teacher profiles I've got to sort through. I guess this is partly a good thing, since, guess who's profile I've found? It's none other than, hear this, GEORGE Borcowitz. I never knew he was a George, or divorced, or childless. Actually, it's not such a surprise, really, I always knew that no woman could possibly stand George enough to actually marry, or, since someone actually did marry him, stay married to him. And the no kids, well, I don't think he much likes them, and they don't really much like him, so it's a good sort of negotiation. Just. Have. None. It does say that, even though he never had any of his own kids, he had adopted a son. I feel real sorry for the son. He probably went mental living with his stepfather, and who wouldn't, really, with Mr. B as your stepfather?

The kid's about my age, a little older, it doesn't say his name here, but it does mention him attending University at present time. So, he turned out to be somewhat normal, I guess, and he hasn't yet killed himself.

That's all I've found out so far, it's quite interesting, I must say, really intriguing.

I quickly head off to feed the fish. None have died so far, so I must be doing something right.

As I near the goldfish aquarium, the fish all edge up towards the glass and look real pleased to see me. At least _they_ appreciate the work that I do.

After I finish feeding the fish, an hour later, which is actually pretty good considering how many aquariums our campus has, I head off to my dorm. I still have an hour before my date with Josh.

It's really hot in the dorm, like a freaking microwave. I feel really dizzy and nauseous and my heads feels like it's going to explode. I sit down on my bed and then I decide to go and take a shower to cool off.

After the shower I do cool off but my headache, well, let's just say that the trend appears to be that a headache just doesn't get washed away in the shower, even though I was kind of hoping it would. I totter over to my closet and get out my really nice black Chanel dress.

I must be having some kind of hallucination because my eyes are seeing fog. Fog near the door, fog on the floor, fog near the window. Fog fog fog.

THERE IS FOG IN MY DORM. And I'm seeing everything in double, no, actually, it's only the door that I see in double, or triple, or million. Doors just appear out of nowhere and completely fill my line of vision.

I close my eyes. Breath in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Out. In. Open eyes. Okay, dizziness seems to be dying down, the million doors are cut down to two, the fog is gone and nausea is at a minimum.

Ok. After a few seconds I calm down enough to put on my dress. After a few more seconds I get up the courage to brush my damp hair and spritz myself with the new Guess perfume. Then, after a few more seconds, I put my makeup on, straighten my hair, style it, and put on my black Nine West shoes.

I'm ready, totally, utterly, ready. I must say I look good, what with my hair rolling down my face in soft tendrils and wearing my frilly Chanel dress that only reaches down until my knees.

I hear knocking on the door. Must be Josh. He's early.

I open the door. No, not Josh, Jesse.

"Jesse, what a pleasure to see you," I say fake-pleasantly, giving him a wide smile.

"Susannah!" Jesse says, looking somewhat flustered. He is now possessively staring at me. What's up with him? Did I put on too much eye make-up or something? I mean I can't look all that hideous, can I? Not so far as to frighten someone anyway. But I guess I did, frighten him I mean, because the next thing he says is, "where are _you_ off to? I thought Halloween wasn't until next month," and starts laughing.

"Oh, you're just so funny Jesse, you should really consider getting your own talk show," I say, narrowing my eyes, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I should, shouldn't I?" Jesse says sardonically and I can't help but laugh. Jesse flashes me a smile and my heart flips over. What is wrong with me? I've had plenty of guys smile at me in the past and my heart never so much as flickered. It must stop doing that. "Um, well, you seem busy, so, I'll just get going," he says, suddenly becoming serious.

"Yeah," I say, "I'll…I'll see you later then."

"Bye," he says, sparing me a fleeting look. I watch him head down the corridor as I close the door.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Josh called. He said he won't be able make it, that we'll go out next week. Same time.

It's ok. I'm calm. He can't make it, what can I do? He said he had something to do and he apologizes.

I get out of my dress and pull on some jeans and a shirt.

What could be so important that he had to cancel our date? What could he _possibly_ need to do?

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I am in a building on god-only-knows-what-street. I followed Josh---who drove, hear this, a Porsche, yeah, seems killer-boy here also has some cash---all the way here in Dana's car.

I'm standing outside a room that Josh had just entered and strain my ears for any sound.

"…no one can know about this, got it?" I hear Josh say sternly. Know about what?

"Of course not," some other guy replies. "So, are we going ahead as planned?"

"Yes, and don't screw up, I'm paying you big money for this," Josh says curtly.

"Right," says the other guy. "Don't you worry about a thing."

"She won't even know what hit her," Josh says laughingly. Oh god, is he going to kill someone else? "It's perfect."

"All right then, anything else?" the guy says.

"No, nothing for now," Josh replies, "Well, anyway, I think I'll get going now…"

After that I ran out of there like a frightened goose.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Josh is going to kill someone else. I _have_ to stop him.

Oh, by the way, I'm back in my dorm, shoving ice cream into my mouth. It's quite relaxing, I must say. Why haven't I thought of this before? The ice cream eating, I mean. Oh, and it has these really tasty chocolate chips and its so creamy and…

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, I must stop him. But I can't do anything until our date.

What if he kills her before then?

Oh, this is bad.

I must tell Gabrielle to keep an eye on Josh, just until our date. For now there's not much I can do, especially since I have no idea who Josh's next victim is.

This. Is. Not. Good.

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A/N: Hope you liked it. But, now it's time to review, that is, if you want me to update sooner. So, have a happy reviewing time.


	9. Oops

Hello everyone. I sincerely thank everyone for reviewing. Well, this chapter took a shorter time to write, but, it's just a good as the other one, I promise. So, have fun reading.

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I'm grocery shopping. Yeah, I know, it's a scary thought, but the only thing they feed us at our dorm is cheap fish (gosh I hope they don't resort to taking the one's from the campus aquariums) and Campbell soup, and I just can't stand it anymore. I must have at least _some_ variety.

Oh, and the ice cream I was eating yesterday, Dana accidentally bought that while shopping for ingredients for her science project, where she had to build a synapse between two cells out of cake mix and Jell-O, because the lady in front of her at the checkout had an ice cream fetish, so Dana somehow ended up buying one of the lady's many boxes of ice cream.

So anyway, as I'm throwing into the trailer just about everything from fatty potato chips to chocolate ice cream, this guy starts talking to me. I know. It's very peculiar.

"Hey, aren't you Dana's friend?" Unknown being says. I look up and I see that it's that guy who came over and asked for Dana because, as she put it, they were working on some project together.

"Yeah," I reply, piling up some more ice cream. "How'd the project go?" I ask, shoving some chocolate in.

"Oh, um, went quite well," he says, flashing me a lopsided grin. "Oh, by the way, I'm Paul," he says, sticking out his hand, which I shake.

"Suze," I say, rather distractedly, since I just noticed that the store is having a sale. It's a two for one discount on potato chips, so I throw in one more bag. "Well, it was nice meeting you," I add, rushing over to the checkout stand. Yeah, I know that a hot guy just happened to come up to me and start talking, but I noticed that there was no line and fully intended to use up the opportunity that just so conveniently opened up for me.

"Yeah, see you later," I hear Paul say after me. I begin shoveling out all the piles of junk food that I'd collected and the checkout lady begins scanning them, partially blinding me with her laser. She gives me a very evil stare, as though I just offered her something sickly, like slime.

I commence in putting all of my groceries into plastic bags. She thanks me in this kind of morbid-I-wish-I-was-rather-dead-than-have-to-scan-people's-stupid-groceries-and-get-paid-really-crappy monotone voice. I grab some money from my purse and hand it to her. Then I head back to my dorm.

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I'm sitting on the couch of my dorm and there's ice cream tied around my forehead. I resorted to using my really nice Guess stretchy elastic band to tie the ice cream boxes into place.

Yeah, I know you're probably wondering why I have ice cream tied around my head. Well, it's quite an interesting story:

I started to heat up again, so I, like, checked my temperature and it was normal, so I wasn't sick or anything. Taking a shower was out of the question because we've got no water---turns out the dorm has this thing it does where they close off tap water for a day in order to give students a taste of how pioneers used to feel before tap water was invented. I just think it's to piss us off and save money on their water bill---therefore, ice is also ruled out. So I just grabbed the coldest thing in the house, which is the ice cream, and tied it around my head in order to stop nuclear fusion from occurring inside it. So, now I'm walking around, or more like sitting around, with my head flanked by two giant ice-cream boxes. Pretty attractive, huh?

Then…I heard a knock on the door. First, you know, I just tried pretending that I'm not home. Then, when the knocking didn't go away, I decided to just go ahead and open it, having completely forgotten that I have two giant iceboxes on my head (though I don't know how because they're so freaking big, and heavy, that they practically obstruct my vision). I must have been really out of it, I guess.

So, stupid me goes to open the door, completely unaware of the tragedy about to be played out.

Characters within tragedy:

Jesse

Susannah with ice cream on head

Jesse: "Susannah, why do you have ice cream on your head?"

Me: "Oh…it's…I'm doing an experiment… I was supposed to create an elastic band with a strong hold, and…to test it, I need it to hold something really heavy, thus the ice cream.

(Jesse nods understandingly)

Jesse: "What class is this for?"

Me:

Jesse: "And why does the elastic say Guess on the side?"

Me: "It doesn't say Guess, it says Guss. That's my label."

Jesse: "No, it says Guess."

(I take the elastic off and place the ice cream boxes on the table)

Me: (looking at the elastic) "Oh, I must have misspelled it then." (I start laughing hysterically because I'm such a moron and Jesse, horrified, takes a step back).

Jesse: "Right then, are we going?"

Me: (about to say where, when I remember we have dance today) "Yeah, let me just get my stuff."

I have never, I mean never, been so mortified in my life. And really, why did he have to ask so many questions?

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"Move dis vay, now dis," Boris dictates, swinging his arms around frantically. "No, you do wrong, dis vay, and move yer hips!" Boris shouts at me.

"I'm trying," I shout back, getting pretty fed up with him. "I wish they sent him somewhere relaxing for a while, like Antarctica, it'd be good for him," I say irritably, talking mostly to myself. I hear Jesse laugh. I give him a sharp stare and he stops abruptly. I'm still really annoyed at him for the ice cream encounter. And, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, I've now got to dance in front of a whole bunch of people, who, turns out, are the parents of some kids who are participating in a dance competition that's taking place today.

"Vere are you steppin', you go totally wron' derecton!" Boris shouts at me. I ignore him.

Oh, by the way, I've already told Gabrielle to look out after Josh and make sure he stays off the killing business. But, now that I think about it, Josh might not even have to do the dirty work. It might be that guy's job. You know, the one he was talking with. Maybe making Gabrielle keep a look out for Josh serves no purpose since he might not even be the one _doing_ the killing. Oh, why am I so stupid?

Oh, and hear this, in my dreamy-like state (I was kind of not really paying attention to my dancing, or, quite plainly, where I was going) I'd somehow ended up standing near this little bush they have at the dance studio, and, thinking it was Jesse, I started talking to it.

In front of lots of other people, who, evidently, were watching me, because they started to point at the "crazy kid over there."

God, can this day get any worse?

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Apparently, it can.

Jesse asked me if I wanted to go get something to drink with him so that we can "talk." Oh god, he thinks I've gone completely mental. He started saying things like, "Oh, it isn't uncommon for people to start speaking to inanimate objects," and, "the behavior mostly occurs because a person suffers from being ostracized for a long time." Which basically means that I have no friends, thus I resort to commencing relationships with non-living objects. So, quite simply, what he is saying is that he thinks I've gone completely off the deep-end.

I told him that I couldn't go get something to drink with him because I had things to do. He just looked at me all sad, as if told him that I was about to die or something, ---though, when I think about it, I think I might. Die that is---and said if ever I needed to talk I could call him. Yeah, right.

I went straight to feeding my fish. They were all really happy to see me.

Oh god, I really am sad. I've made friends with fish. But, they're definitely alive, so Jesse's wrong, I don't have relationships with non-living things. The fish are alive, but, with my feeding skills, I don't know how long that will last.

After I was done I went straight to my dorm. I thought it was about time for me to start wallowing in self-pity and filling up on junk food. But, guess who I met on my way back? It was none other than that guy who asked Dana out and she said no because she thought that she wasn't going to stay for longer than a year because she had no tuition money.

So, when I saw him, I said:

"Hi, long time no see." He doesn't answer. He just looks at me kind of puzzled, as though he's trying to figure out a very complex math problem. I take it he doesn't remember me. "How come you stopped bothering Dana for a date?" I ask.

His eyes widen, as suddenly he recognizes who I am. He replies with, "It wouldn't have worked out." It's a bit funny how both him and Dana responded in much the same way. It's as though they've agreed upon the perfect sentence together.

So, I counter-attack his answer with, "Yes it would, she _is_ planning on staying, you know?"

I know I should probably have just left it alone when he gave me the Dana-replicate-sentence---I mean, he's no mute, he could just go up to Dana and try to once more convince her to go out with him and say that it doesn't matter that she's leaving---but I couldn't. Dana probably hasn't been out with anyone since school started, by which I mean since first grade, and I highly doubt she went out with anyone before then. So you see, I couldn't just let this perfectly normal guy walk away. I had to do something.

"Staying for what?" he asks me, raising his eyebrows sadly.

"Well, she's isn't leaving University after first year, like she originally planned, she's going to sit it out for four full years," I reply.

"Why was she planning on leaving?" he asks confusedly.

"Didn't she tell you when you…?" I ask. Then I realize, maybe she hadn't. Told him, I mean. "Well, she doesn't have tuition money to continue classes after this year, that's why she rejected you when you asked her out, she didn't think she was staying, but now that I've entered a contest for her---"

"What contest?" He asks, his eyes lighting up.

"The contest, you know, the one where you can win sixty grand---"

"Really? I…that…that's wonderful…that she can stay, I mean," He says, looking sincerely happy.

"Well, that's not for certain, you know, I might not win, but I'm sure she'll be more willing now to go out with you, now that she has a slightly bigger chance of staying, well, as opposed to nil. I mean, she's really nice and all, I'm sure she'll give you a chance," I say. After a short silence I continue with, "_So_, are you going to talk to her?"

"Uh, yeah, I…really hadn't known why she…but…now that all obstacles…are out the way…now that she's able to stay she might actually agree to …" he starts muttering incoherently and I just sort of tune out. I only surface back to reality when I hear him say: "Oh, I'm Matt."

"I'm Suze," I reply dazedly.

"It was nice meeting you," he says. "And I'll be sure to drop by, you know…"

"Yah, well, I'll see you later then," I say, and he walks off.

So now, having reinstated Matt and Dana, I'm relaxing on the couch, stuffing ice cream into my mouth, when I hear someone knocking on the door.

Oh, god. Can't people just leave me alone?

It's Jesse. Again. He's such a bacteria. Doesn't he have a life?

"What the hell do you want?" I ask bitterly. I really don't have time for him right now. I mean, I _am _really busy, what with all that junk food still waiting for me.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," he says, looking around at all the junk-food wrappers on the floor. "Susannah," he says exasperatedly, letting himself into my dorm, "junk food isn't the answer to your problems," and sits down on the couch.

"Okay, I get the message, can you leave now?" I say viciously. I start putting ice cream into my mouth.

Jesse looks at me as though I've just begun eating my carpet.

"I see that you've resorted to eating your experiment now," he says jokingly. I eye him maliciously. "How _was _your experiment, by the way, did you learn anything useful?" he asks, smiling in that evil sort of way. He knows it wasn't an experiment. He's just making fun of me.

"Ok, so I didn't actually have any sort of experiment, but I was really hot and we didn't have any water, so I couldn't take a shower," I start saying. Jesse begins to laugh at me. "I had no choice, Ok? You can stop laughing now," I continue saying, which only makes him laugh harder. I go to sit down, agitated, on the couch and feverishly begin feeding myself ice cream, to which Jesse responds by grabbing it away.

"Hey, give me my ice cream back," I say. I try taking it away from him but he moves it up out of my reach. I start grabbing at his hands.

"Susannah, it really isn't very healthy to eat so much ice cream," he says while attempting to ward me off. I am now semi-standing on Jesse's knees trying pathetically to re-unite myself with my sugary friend.

"I don't care," I shout at him. I must look like such a dork. I start to laugh. "I want my ice cream back," I say, while both Jesse and me befriend a fit of laughter. I am now so exhausted from all laughing that I hardly have the energy to move my arms and probably look like a giant slug moving in slow motion.

I now attempt to actually _stand_ on Jesse's knees, which doesn't turn out to be quite so successful and I trip. Inevitably, I begin to fall.

Midway through my fall Jesse manages to catch me---he dropped the ice cream---and I end up on top of him, like, the sort of on top of him that, if anybody happened to come in and see us, would look really wrong, which actually ended up happening since Dana has such impeccable timing. All she said upon entering was, "Oh…really sorry…didn't know you guys were…I'll just go," and left. I turn exceptionally red and hastily pull myself off off Jesse.

God, how embarrassing is _that_?

Jesse apologizes and gives me back my ice cream. We sit in silence for a while. Then Jesse says, "So, why did you decide to enter the contest?"

Well, I was still pretty mad at him and all, so I said, "It's really none of your business, but, if you must know, I'm doing it for my own selfish needs."

"I see," Jesse says, "and what do your selfish needs consist of?"

"Oh, everything from designer clothes to expensive perfumes, that sort of stuff," I reply irritably. What? I wasn't just going to start spilling my whole entire life to him, and anyway, it's probably the answer he's looking for. I don't think he has a very high opinion of me, so I just told him what he wants to hear.

"Yes, of course," he says, and then looks at me for a while. "Look, I'm real sorry for barging in on you like I did, I just…I don't actually think that you're ostracized, or anything, I was just kidding…you probably have lots of friends and…uh…I really just came to give you this."

I eye Jesse as he takes out a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. On it is this:

Once a day you must have:

Four or more servings of fruits and vegetables for vitamins and minerals

Four or more servings of whole-grain or enriched bread and cereal for energy 

Four of more servings of milk and milk products for calcium

Three or more servings of meat, poultry, fish, eggs, nuts, dried beans and peas for protein

Essential minerals:

Folic acid. Found in kidney beans, leafy green vegetables, peas, and liver.

And on and on it went…

"I just wanted to make sure you were eating right," Jesse says. "And you do have to lay off the junk food, Susannah."

"Why?" I ask, completely puzzled. Is he trying to become a nutritionist, or something?

"Because it isn't good for the baby," he says.

"What baby?" I ask, now really confused.

"Susannah, I know that you're pregnant," is his reply.

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	10. clueless

Thank you all for reviewing, and, yes, of course Susannah is still a virgin, that's just her imaginary baby, the one she made up as an excuse in order to find out the owner of the hairs. Anyway, happy reading. MAKE SURE TO REVIEW.

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I _knew_ I should have taken the hair sample to a different hospital. WHY am I so incredibly STUPID? Jesse was all like, "Well, what did you think, Susannah? Of course I work at the lab portion of the hospital." OF COURSE, as _well _as working at the hospital, Jesse works at the _lab_. What kind of idiot doesn't consider such a thing? Oh, I know. Me.

He said he was really surprised when he saw that it was my name that was written on the little paper that I gave in with the hair sample.

He also said he knows that I don't want anyone else finding out about my pregnancy and tried to convince me to tell my parents. He said that I had nothing to be ashamed of, though I shouldn't be having babies with people I don't know. Well, he didn't really say it like that. It was more like, "Susannah, what were you thinking, getting drunk like that? Didn't you even bother to think of the consequences?"

I was so mortified that all I could do was nod my head.

"I'm expecting you to follow the sheet of paper I gave you," Jesse says sternly. I nod. I _so _was not expecting this. This is horrible. It's even worse than having people point at you because they see having a conversation with a bush. At least you'll never see them again. But Jesse, well, I still have months' of dance lessons with him.

I want to jump out the window, but, before I follow up on that thought, Jesse, looking at his watch, says, "Yeah…uh…I better get going." Then, getting up, he looks over at me and goes "and…uh…if you need anything you…you just…you can tell me."

After stupidly nodding my head, he leaves.

Oh, what am I going to do? Crap crappidy crap crap. Hit head with fist. I am such a moron.

I: should not have taken hair samples to same hospital Jesse works at (Big Mistake).

Because: very likely he will see it and think, what he obviously already thinks, that I'm pregnant.

Well? And why wouldn't he think I'm pregnant? I did kind of request a paternity test to find out the identity of the father of my imaginary baby. He has no idea about the _actual_ reason I needed those tests done. Oh, and I'm not exactly planning on telling him. This is bad. This is _really_ bad. I mean, since I'm not pregnant, I'm not actually going to show, right? Then he'll suspect something and somehow find out I lied, then he'll want to know why, and what will I do then?

WHAT IF HE TELLS THE HOSPITAL THAT I LIED?

That would be even worse. I might get into jail for conspiracy, or something. Should I just pretend to be pregnant and get one of those I-want-to-fake-my-pregnancy pads?

Oh, how did this HAPPEN? Everything was going so great.

I start eating junk food when Dana comes in. She's really hesitant, I guess she wants to make sure I don't have anyone else over.

"Listen, Suze, I'm really sorry for barging in on you like that, I didn't know---"

"It's fine, we weren't doing anything," I say. She shakes her head.

"Suze, it's all right, you don't have to lie to me, I'll just be more careful next time," she says. As she sits down on the couch and grabs a bag of potato chips, she, changing the subject, goes, "Oh, guess what?"

"What?" I say, semi-amused. She flips her glossy red hair in a futile attempt get it out of her eyes.

"Guess," she says, her green eyes wide with delight.

"You got a life?" I ask her dryly. She rolls her eyes at me.

"No, Mr. Schwartzberg, my Biology professor, asked me and two other students, out of the _whole_ class, to participate in a biology contest where we get to use gel electrophoresis to input someone's DNA…after that we're supposed to use a bacteria culture to make…and whichever school does the best job wins…isn't that great?" she says.

"Yeah, wonderful," I say, staring blankly at the couch. It has a really pretty pattern, with roses and daisies spread out evenly across a light blue background.

This is _really_ not the right time to think about how pretty the couch pattern is. My life is SO over.

"So, how's the contest going?" she asks me.

"It's really great," I reply in monotone.

Like, SO over. Like, I-will-not-live-to-see-the-birth-of-my-imaginary-baby over.

"Need any help?" She inquires excitedly.

"Yeah, especially with receiving 90 plus averages," I say. "That isn't going to happen any day soon." Especially since I have a major essay to do for Mr. Borcowitz, which is due next month. It's about the major influences society has on individual people.

For someone who teaches sociology, Mr. Borcowitz isn't very social, or nice for that matter, so I doubt I'm going to get a very decent mark on it. Especially since he hates me more than he does his teaching career.

So, not only do I have an essay to write, but now I also have a PREGNANCY to fake. Go me.

"Suze, are you okay?" Dana asks me, a worried look on her face.

"Ya, sure, don't I look okay?" I say.

"Well, you're kind of eating the remote," she says.

"Oh, sorry," I say. What's wrong with me? I must have gone totally whacko to mistake the remote for the potato chips.

Mental Note: Get special pregnancy pads.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Monday, bah. Don't want to get up. I remember yesterday, feel depressed, and flip over to the other side like an egg on a frying pan.

I had a pretty I-don't-know-what-to-call-it dream. It went like this: After I was done looking at myself in the mirror---I had on a Gucci dress and was holding a Louis Vuitton handbag---I went over to the door. So, there I am, walking out the door, when, guess who approaches me? It's none other than Kelly Prescott. When she sees me she grabs my handbag going, "thanks for holding it," in this snotty kind of way and proceeds to go down the stairs. She turns around to look up at me from the second floor landing (I'm standing on the third floor) and goes, "well, aren't you coming?" to which I respond by following her down the stairs. The end.

I wonder why I was at her house in the first place, or, an even better question is, why I dreamt about _her_ out of all people?

I have very peculiar dreams.

But, now that I think about it, I don't really _have_ that many dreams. That's weird. I should ask Jesse about it, maybe it's the result of the hormonal changes I've been experiencing due to my non-existent pregnancy. I laugh hysterically. I'm so pathetic.

I get up to go to English.

Today, Mrs. Johnson gives us a lecture about how to structure our essays in a logical manner. She says something about not putting your conclusion up at the beginning. Most of the kids laugh. A few kids look a bit unnerved, as though they didn't know they weren't supposed to do that. She says that that is something we all learned in kindergarten, but she's sure that we can now move on ahead to more complex logical arrangements.

All I could think about for the whole entire class was how Mrs. Johnson knew what we learned in kindergarten.

And, of course, what to do about me and my fake pregnancy.

Mr. B was quite amicable today, he only yelled at me twice, which I take to be a good sign. He told me that, "the influence of parents on their children from a young age is due to the child's emotional and corporeal attachment to their caregivers, but, as they mature, metacognition, which allows individual thinking, allows independency and influence by those outside of their near family," was very poorly stated and lacked preliminary background information.

Hey, it's his fault he called on me. If he doesn't like how I answer, then why bother asking?

After class, I head back to my dorm.

As I open the door, I see Dana sitting on the couch, working on something school related.

"Hi," she says distractedly. "Busy, can't talk."

After her vague response, I head over to the refrigerator and grab and big box of ice cream, completely ignoring Jesse's pregnancy list, and start binge ice cream eating.

I feel a lot better. Sugar has a real calming effect, well, before it's oxidized and you become real hyper.

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"So," Jesse says, looking me squarely in the eye. "Are you keeping to my list?"

"Uh, of course," I say, flustered, remembering my ice cream binge. "It's great…uh…real helpful."

Jesse smiles and my heart does a little cartwheel. God, why does it do that?

Well, I guess it might be because I feel kind of bad for lying to him and all, you know, since he's trying to help out with the baby he thinks I'm going to have, but I have no choice.

"Guys! No talkin', dis a dance lesson, you focus on dance, no moving mouth," Boris yells over at us. He's such an ogre, it's not like I don't have enough on my back right now---the wood including---I don't need him yelling at me too. I guess Jesse realizes this, my not needing any shit from Boris, because what he says next (in whisper mode) is a shocker.

In mock imitation of Boris: "This a dance lesson, focus on dance, mouth is no for moving, but to kiss the behind. I gladly do."

After Jesse said that I couldn't help but laugh. I _totally_ did not expect that from I'm-always-so-totally-serious Jesse.

I continue his imitation with:

"Of course, I do not want to brag, is a real skill, must do properly."

We both burst out laughing. Boris gives us a deadly stare and we stop. When he turns to face the other way we start laughing again.

After that, whenever Boris isn't looking, instead of dancing what we're supposed to, we make a little mock dance, so that our cha-cha becomes, like, a slow-cha and we dance around like dumb giants. I almost die from laughing so hard.

When dance class is over we head to Jesse's car. Jesse is all nice and he opens the door for me, asking me if I need anything, and I suddenly remember that I'm supposed to be afraid of him.

I am such an idiot. I was like totally fraternizing with the enemy.

Seriously, what is wrong with me, do I have forgetful syndrome? There's no other way to explain it, really.

I revert back to my I-don't-like-Jesse state and sit mutely while Jesse starts talking to me about a fire victim he had had in the hospital a few days ago. He said that she was at her graduation party when the fire started. She didn't make it past the night. Many of the students attending the party suffered minor injuries, while some of the others weren't quite so lucky, attaining anything from second to third degree burns.

I said it would suck for something like that to happen on your graduation.

"Yeah, they were off to go start their lives, but now some of theirs are over. I mean, if they were lucky enough to remain alive, they're still pretty shaken from all the trauma," Jesse says somberly, "you can never really go back to feeling the same way, can you?"

"I guess not," I say. Then, after a long pause, I continue with, "doesn't it make you feel depressed to see people suffering like that everyday?"

"Yes, but when I know that I am helping to save their lives, that I'm making a difference, then none of that really matters," he says, "I can't feel depressed when I am helping them get better."

_How_ can I _possibly_ hate him after that? Huh? Tell me.

I stare at him until he turns my way, addressing me with a questioning, "What," and giving me a very dirty look.

"Nothing," I say, turning away. He focuses his attention back on the road.

A few seconds later he says, "We're here."

"Huh?" I say, springing back to reality. I was deeply engrossed in a fluffy gray cloud that looked like Mr. Borcowitz. It was giving me an evil stare.

"We have arrived," Jesse says, real slowly, "at our dorms."

"Oh," I say, feeling really stupid, "Of course." I get up out of the car and both of us trudge up the dorm steps and into the building.

Jesse walks me up to my dorm, which I think is very nice of him since he has to go all the way back down again. As I'm about to open the door he gives me a really strange look, then comes up real close to me and touches my right cheek. He moves some of my hair out of the way and examines me. My heart stops beating. My cheek, where he is touching it, starts to burn. I cannot breathe. I am completely paralyzed.

He nears his face to mine and I think: Is he going to kiss me? Because, you know, that would be kind of peculiar, since he's my enemy and all. I could turn my head away, but there's also the fact that I wouldn't really mind if he did. Kiss me, I mean, even if he is my enemy. And really, how unsporting would it be of me if I turn my head away?

Instead of kissing me though, all he did was say, "Susannah, how did you get that bruise on the side of your forehead?"

"Oh," I say, turning the same shade of red as Dana's hair, "I…fell," is all I manage to say. I think I might have gotten that when I hit the door, on, like, the second or third day of school. It was kind of Jesse's fault, too, because I was paying to much attention on him and not enough on where I was going. Although, come to think of it, that was quite a long time ago, and the bruise should have disappeared by now.

"How did you manage to fall like that?" Jesse says, an amused expression on his face.

"I fell off off my bed," I say questioningly. I don't know, what else was I supposed to say?

"May I ask why," he says. He can never leave anything alone, can he? What if I wanted to fall off my bed, how's it any of his business? But I didn't say that, all I said was:

"Oh, it was really stupid, not worth discussing, really."

"I see," he says.

"I won't do it again, I promise," I say. Jesse gives off a little laugh.

After a few seconds he says, "Yeah…I…better get going," and fixes me with a penetrating look.

"Right," I say, "I'll see you later then."

When Jesse leaves I head off to feed my fish.

Oh, guess what? This day finalizes my fish-and-paper punishment, that is, if Mr. B. doesn't aspire to assign me another week. I think I'll kind of miss them. The fish, I mean. They're all really quiet and they're always happy to see me, not at all like humans, whose hourly talking, if it had any electrical potential, could provide the U.S. with electricity for a few hundred years. And, humans are never veryhappy to see me. It's kind of sad, really.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Half of today's dance class went by in the same fashion as it did yesterday: Jesse and me making fun of Boris, us laughing, Boris getting annoyed.

I kind of thought that Jesse took this whole contest thing really seriously, but, him slacking off, well, it really makes no sense.

I told him we better start behaving ourselves because we needed our performance at the end of the content to be superb. After that, the lesson went kind of like it usually does. I guess Jesse kind of forgot why we were here in the first place and I kind of reminded him, which I kind of regret now because he went back to being his old Jesse self.

For being my almost worst enemy, Jesse can be really nice. He made Boris stop forcing me to wear the wood thingy, which I really appreciate because soon it would've broken me in half.

And, as we're attempting to dance, Jesse goes, "Susannah, are you sure you're up to four dance lessons a week, you know, if---"

And I go, "of course I am," because I couldn't very well jeopardize our chances at winning, also especially since I'm not even really pregnant. "Don't worry about me," I say, which I think kind of pointless to say because I doubt that that will really convince him not to worry about me.

Also, I'm getting a lot better with my dancing. Boris told me that now, instead of dancing like a duck, I dance more like dead tuna, which I guess is better than a duck, right?

Boris told Jesse that his dancing was really good, though he didn't appoint him any names of creatures that his dancing resembles, like he kind of does for me.

After class I told Jesse that, instead of him going up to my dorm, I was going to go up to his, as a sort of non-mean payback. He told me I would do no such thing. I argued. After a long battle, I won the war. Tee hee.

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Thursday. Not worth talking about.

Mr. Bright was extra cheery today.

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Today Boris was very mean to me. He told me I look like a duck again, so no more dead tuna progress. Jesse told me not to worry about it, because I'm doing really well. Even though he seemed to be sincere, it didn't make me feel any better. I knew I was dragging him down, minimizing his, and mine, chances of winning.

He told Boris that we should focus only on my dancing today. So, the entire class was spent on helping me develop dance techniques. It was really kind of helpful, since Boris told me I was getting better: "you look like dead tuna."

By the end, I had progressed all the way to becoming a "bendable ruler."

I am so glad for Jesse's suggestion. I really improved.

As we're driving back to our dorms, Jesse asks me if I'm busy tomorrow. I tell him that I'm going out, ---it's my date with Josh---and, since Josh called me a little earlier today and told me we'd be going to the Bangkok Gardens Restaurant, I told Jesse that that's where I'm going. He asks me if I'm going alone. I say no, I'm going with a friend.

Then we stop talking because we arrive at our dorms.

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Today is my date. Finally. Gabrielle told me that no one has died yet, which is good.

My goal for today is to find out everything I possibly can about Josh, so I'll need to ask him a whole lot of questions. I also must find any speck of evidence that might potentially help me to identify him as Gabrielle's murderer, which means, clearly speaking, that I must snoop around in his wallet and stuff.

So, as I'm thinking about all the stuff I'm going to ask Josh, I begin putting together my ensemble. I put on my silky red Michael Kors dress, which kind of resembles the one that Alicia Silverstone wore in Clueless, with matching red high-heel sandals. I put on light-pink eye shadow, and then I sort of curl my hair. It looks really nice, with my hair in these soft little tendrils. Yeah, anyway, however good I may look, ha ha ha, it's almost seven, so I better get going.

As soon as I exit the lobby, Josh gets out of his car and walks up to where I'm standing. He stretches my arm out towards his face and kisses my hand---which is really peculiar, but kind of nice I guess---and ushers me to his car, which he opens so that I can get in. Very gentlemanly, I must say, for a killer.

So, as we're driving along, I happen to mention that old banquet hall---I told him its location, so that he knew specifically which one I was talking about---I went to with Gabrielle. I told him how I thought they should tear it down because no one uses it anyway, and he, _completely calm_, told me that it must have some historical value, and that he's glad they didn't tear it apart because breaking down old buildings causes the destruction of history.

I totally expected a different reaction, like, one of surprise, or, maybe one of agreement, since all the evidence of his murder resides in that hall. But then, maybe it's just an act, maybe he's pretending like he doesn't care. Whatever it is, I was so dumfounded that I didn't speak another word during the entire car ride.

When we arrive, Josh gets out of the car and opens the passenger-side door for me. He asks me how I like the place, and, when I actually take a look at it, well, let's just say that even in a million years I would never be able to afford to eat at a place like this. I don't say that to Josh, though, I just say that I think it's very nice. This restaurant, Bangkok Gardens or whatever, obviously has a garden, but it is also situated on the edge of a lake, which gives it a kind of fantasy setting.

Inside the restaurant, the lobby has these really nice marble floors and there's a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There are also, like, five waiters waiting on you at the same time, one taking your coat, another taking you to you seat, another giving you your menu, and so on and so forth. And, it also has live music, by that I mean like, a lady playing on the piano or something, nothing like The Killers concert or anything.

We get seated outside, by the lake.

I could really get used to this, this Josh-taking-me-out-to-really-nice-expensive-restaurants thing, with the whole killing-people thing thrown aside.

Josh told me I looked nice. But then, he might tell Dopey he looked nice if only to strike conversation with him and create the perfect opportunity needed to kill him.

Anyway, as Josh starts talking, I notice someone familiar coming towards me, but then, since he's wearing a uniform, I figure that it's just another waiter. He's probably coming to get my order, and, since I already know what I'm having, I say:

"I'll have the…uh…poulet avec pain please"---this restaurant is sort of French, and, since I didn't really pay that much attention in French during my high school years, I decide to get the food of which names I can actually understand the meaning so that I don't order anything unusual, like snails---but then, to my utter horror, when I look up to see if he got my order, I don't see a waiter, I see Jesse.

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**A/N: Hope you liked it. Please REVIEW. **


	11. the restaurant

Thanks for all your reviews. Your support really means a lot to me, and, it makes me very happy. Anyways, I've updated, so you better read.

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To say I looked surprised would be an understatement. I mean, here I was, getting ready to have a perfectly normal meal, as normal as you can when there's a murderer sitting on the side opposite yours, when Jesse shows up. _And_, he's dressed as one of the waiters. Is there something I don't know about? Apparently, there is, because as I excuse myself and grab Jesse in order to have a "talk" with him, he tells me that he's working here.

"What do you mean, you're working here?" I ask.

"I'm sure it's not that hard to understand, Susannah," he says irritably, unable to look at me. I don't know what _he's _so upset about. It's _my_ date that he's ruined.

"It _is_ hard to understand," I start saying, "how is it that when I'm out on a date at some fancy restaurant, which, if I remember correctly, I _told_ you about, you happen to coincidently work there?" I ask, getting quite hysterical.

"And, if _I_ remember correctly, you told me you were going out with a friend," Jesse says contemptuously, "not on a date with that thing." On the word thing, Jesse, looking disgusted, points at Josh.

"Who are you calling a thing?" I ask. "You don't even know him." God, look at me, defending Josh-the-murderer.

Jesse, completely ignoring me, goes, "it's not like I care, really, I'm only helping out a friend."

Though, whether he cares or not, he does, if I may say so, look a bit disappointed.

I, puzzled by his remark, go "What?"

"You know, for the contest, I'm helping out a friend. He works here, and, since he isn't feeling very well, I offered to take his shift," he says.

"Are you even allowed to do _that_?" I ask, rather loudly, and a couple sitting nearby gives us a frightened sort of look.

"If you have the right qualifications," he says huffily, looking down at the floor.

"Right, whatever you're doing here Jesse, I want you to stay out of this," I say. All I needed was Jesse getting involved with "thing" over there and getting his head chopped off.

I stalk off.

As I near our table, Josh goes, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it," I say, and, after a short pause, I continue with, "So, where were we?"

"You were about to order," he says, smiling at me.

"Right." I smile awkwardly back. A waiter comes over and I order my chicken with bread. Josh orders something that I can't pronounce.

I sit back, my heart still beating rapidly. Out of all things, why this? Why is Jesse here?

I doubt Josh would be too happy about Jesse, and, God only knows what he'll do when he isn't too happy.

"So," Josh says smilingly, looking at me, "how was this past week, get hit by any more basketballs?"

"No," I say absently.

"That's good to hear…at our campus there was this…and it reminded me of…

Why does he always have to ruin everything?

…so I'm thinking that…

He must be really stupid if he thinks I'm going to believe his lie about helping out his sickly little friend.

…which I guess is good because…Suze, are you all right?"

"Uh, what?" I start. Was he saying something? I need to pay attention, this could be important.

"You had this far off look, I just wondered if you were feeling ok…"

"I'm fine," I say, reverting my attention back to Josh. "What were you saying?"

"Oh…just something about school and…" he starts to repeat and my mind kind of drifts off. This, let me tell you, is not good, since it kind of defeats the entire purpose of my being here.

I try to focus on what he is saying when the object gripping my thoughts suddenly appears beside me. And, who is this so-called mysterious object?

It's Jesse.

He comes over with my order, a mocking smile on his lips. I see that _he's_ feeling a lot better.

"I'm going to be your waiter this evening," Jesse whispers in my ear. He walks off so proud of himself, as though he just won a Grammy. He is so incredibly sick.

I don't know _what_ he's trying to do, but I really dislike it.

_Why_ does he have to make everything so much _harder_?

Josh starts talking again but I don't hear a thing that he says. I need to figure out what to do about Jesse.

No, I must stop thinking about Jesse. Focus on Josh. Josh is the important figure here.

I smile up at Josh and start eating my chicken. He starts talking about this really peculiar thing that happened to him, where his biology professor called his home and told his mom that he was chosen to go on this island expedition thing, but when he asked his professor about it in class, she said that she didn't do any such thing, and that they don't even have any island expedition things.

"Weird, huh?" he asks me. I nod, turning my face away so he wouldn't figure out from the guilty expression on my face the culprit's identity and yell, "You!" But I doubt he'd be able to decipher my involvement in the aforementioned criminal act from my face expression. I guess that a guilty conscience makes you paranoid. No, change that, I'm certain. There's definitely no guessing.

I start making up peculiar things that I had happen to me, which Josh thoroughly enjoys because I make them really farfetched.

We somehow end up on the topic of cards, and then I remember, that card, the one that I found at the banquet hall, _the Jack with the lighter_. Should I ask him about it?

But, before I have a chance to say anything, Josh stretches out his hand and touches my cheek, much in the same way Jesse did a few days before, though this time my heart doesn't stop or anything.

But, as Josh is about to kiss me, a plate of these weird looking things lands on our table.

This sort of ruins the moment. Thank god. I thought I was going to have to take drastic measures and tell him I had to go to the bathroom, which would be extremely rude. I mean, here he is, trying to kiss me, and I tell him, right at the point when his lips are about to collide with mine, that I have to go to the bathroom. Like, how would that make me look?

Anyway, you'd expect Josh to be grateful for the plate of weird looking things that Jesse brought over, but all he says is, "I didn't order this."

To which Jesse responds by saying, "Oh well," and walks off.

Under any other circumstances this might have appeared funny, but, under the ones I'm currently residing in, it had the totally opposite effect.

I needed to act quickly to try and save the situation. I couldn't let Josh get angry.

"Well, I'm sure they're really good," I say, putting one in my mouth. _Bad idea_.

I chew-vomit-smile all at the same time, and, when Josh isn't looking, I spit the thing out into the lake. Josh, who watched me chew, and, thinking that I probably swallowed the thing, thinks that maybe it is edible, so he grabs one and starts eating it.

Josh, to my utter amazement, says that it's really good. Whatever rocks your boat, I guess.

He tells me to have some more. I say that my food was so filling that I can't eat anything anymore.

After we're done our meal, Josh asks me if I want to dance. This automatically makes me think of dance lessons (by which I mean the horrible way that I dance).

"Oh, um, I can't…dance…I don't…" I say, making a face, to which Josh responds by grabbing my hand and pulling me all the way to the dance floor.

There _is_ music, by the way, provided by some people playing their violins.

A few people are already dancing.

"It's really easy, I'll show you," Josh says, taking hold of me. He takes control of my hands, putting one around his neck, the other on top of his shoulder.

I feel my face grow hot, and it's not because being close to Josh gives me any sort of rush or anything, but because I just caught sight of Jesse. He has taken a seat at our table and now watches me as though I'm a thoroughly amusing TV show. He's not very excited though, if the pissed-off expression he is wearing is any indication.

Josh begins dragging me around in circles. "You see, it's easy," he says.

I start staring interestedly at the floor because I can't bear to look at Jesse.

What's wrong with me? I shouldn't have to look away. I haven't done anything wrong. I'm just dancing with my date.

Then why do I feel so wretched? My insides feel like someone has taken a big shovel and is passionately ripping out my guts and throwing them down to the floor for small creatures to eat.

And _why_, may I ask, is Jesse looking at me like that, like this wounded puppy? It's so totally unpleasant. Like, if he stabbed me with a fork and threw me in the lake I wouldn't have felt as bad as I do just looking at him.

I was incredibly glad when we went back to our seats.

I notice that Jesse left.

I don't get it, why is he so mad at me? It couldn't obviously be because he wanted to dance too.

It's _me_. He's mad at me. But I don't get what I did wrong. What could he possibly be mad at me for?

A waiter comes over. It isn't Jesse. He wants to know if we're ordering dessert. I look at the menu and absently pick some sort of fruitcake and a strawberry smoothie. Josh orders Poire Belle-Hélènes.

I stare attentively at my hands. Josh asks me if I'm ok. I say I'm fine.

I start playing with the napkins when Jesse brings me my dessert. He doesn't even look at me, which makes me feel even worse.

"Oh, can I also have some water with my order?" Josh asks. Jesse looks at Josh as though he's something disgusting, like a worm, then leaves.

He comes back a few seconds later with the water and Josh's order.

"Here you go, sir, your water," Jesse says.

What happens next is so totally unbelievable that I can only describe it in this manner.

Jesse: (accidentally on purposely trips, the water within the glass tips over and gets all over Josh, his Poire Belle-Hélènes land straight in his face)

Me: In shock.

Jesse: "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry, sir" (not looking very sorry at all, not even _sounding _very sorry. Actually, he sounds quite pleased).

Josh: (Poire Belle-Hélènes stuck to his forehead and chocolate covering dripping down his face) "Um, it's all right, just an accident" (tries to wipe himself off with napkins).

Jesse: (not helping at all) "Oh, ok" (and walks off).

He just _walks off_. It's not at all like he just dropped his customer's food all over their face, oh no, nothing like that.

I tell Josh that it's ok if he wants to go home now. He takes me up on my offer, and, after we, or should I say, he, pays up at the front, we leave. I tell Josh that he doesn't have to drive me home, that I'll get there myself, since I still have some things to do around here. He asks me if I'm sure for about a hundred times, then, when he's sure that I'm sure, he leaves.

I go back inside, find Jesse, drag him, in plain view of all the customers, outside, and demand what he was thinking.

"It was an accident," he says simply.

"An accident? That is such bull, Jesse, and you didn't even _bother_ to help him clean up," I say angrily. Does he know what he did? This date was set up specifically for the collection of evidence about Josh's murdering Gabrielle, which, if not already obvious, went _completely_ askew, and, I have Jesse to thank for that.

Plus, I _very _much doubt that Josh would _ever _want to take me out again after what happened today.

"So?" he asks, as though all he did wrong was bring Josh a fork instead a spoon.

"What do you mean, 'so'?" I demand, "You shouldn't have even been here in the first place!"

"If I hadn't been there who knows what he would have done," Jesse says defensively. Oh, I see, now he's blaming everything on Josh. Jesse has some major denial issues going on, that's for sure.

"Done what? What was he going to do?" I shout heatedly. Other than kill me, that is.

Jesse scoffs, and, watching the floor as though it's the most amusing thing he has ever seen, he says, "Oh, don't act like you don't know."

"I…no, I don't," I say, confused. As far as I'm concerned Josh didn't do anything wrong.

Jesse, frustration almost visibly dripping down his face, says, "Wh…why him…what do you see in that?"

"_That _is a lot nicer than _you_!" I shout. Right away I wish I hadn't said that.

Jesse winces, as though my words might have actually hit him.

"Right," he says gruffly.

"Right, then, I'm leaving," I say.

"Of course you are," Jesse says sarcastically, "I'm driving you home."

"No, you're not," I say, pushing my eyebrows together. First he yells at me then he offers to drive me home? Who does he think I am?

"Then how are you planning to get back?" Jesse asks.

I don't even bother replying, I just stalk off angrily. Jesse tries to stop me, but I ward him off.

I get as far as the corner when my body grows incredibly hot and I contract a persistent stabbing pain in my forehead. It feels as though someone is constantly hitting me on the head with a baseball bat.

I grab the wall to try and stabilize myself, but the pain gets even worse. Now I feel as though someone is drilling a hole in my head.

Everything around me starts to bounce up and down. The stop sign right beside me begins to wave merrily. I detect a vomiting sensation.

Then, thinking that nothing could possibly get any worse, my stomach begins to hurt. It feels really horrible, like, if anyone where to ever shoot me in the abdomen, that pain would probably bear a whole lot of resemblance to the pain I feel there now. Suddenly, I can't see anything in front me (might be because it's getting darker, but I believe that it's due to my eyes malfunctioning).

The world starts spinning.

After a few seconds, darkness falls all around me.

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**A/N: Hope you liked it. Sorry for the end. PLEASE REVIEW. **


	12. double trouble

K, my next chapter is up. Sorry for not updating for so long. I was busy, what with exams and everything. I was going totally ballistic, since, well, it's my last year, and Universities are going to be looking at my grades and all. I looked very attractive (ha ha) throughout the entire month, I must say. What with my hair looking as though I've been electrified during a giant thunderstorm and with seventeen-year bags under my eyes, and, yeah, you get the point. Well, now that that's over, I'm able to update. So, have fun reading.

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Bright lights. Door. Bright lights. Jesse's face. Dorky pictures of a house on wall.

Wait a minute?

I blink.

What is Jesse's face doing here?

"Susannah, are you all right?" Jesse's face says, wearing a concerned expression.

It's one of those dreams, isn't it? Where things don't make sense and your worst enemy is asking you if you're all right.

No, that's not it.

Maybe it's the one where you're in a hospital and suddenly your worst enemy realizes, after he came so close to losing you, that maybe he's _not_ your worst enemy.

I blink again. No, I don't think that's it either.

Jesse's face, which zooms in and out in front of me, starts to ask me all sorts of questions. I feel really woozy, as though the earth is moving sideways and I'm trying to walk on it.

Maybe it's the dream where I'm really drunk. Yeah, that's probably it.

I blink.

Then why can't I wake up?

Wait. _Maybe I'm not dreaming_.

Is that possible?

Then what am I doing here?

Where is 'here' anyway?

There's a constant shooting pain in my head. Ok, definitely not a dream.

What the hell happened to me? Did somebody try to run my head along a train track?

I hear a beeping sound. Things around me start to clear up and I see that there's wiring connected to parts of my body.

I have a horrible headache coming on.

Adding to theache is sincerely concerned Jesse, who's constantly saying things like, "Susannah…I was so terribly worried…you weren't responding…and…there's the baby …"

What in the world is he talking about? What _baby_?

Then it hits me. MY BABY! OH. MY. GOD.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me. I remember us arguing, me stamping off, then falling unconscious.

_That's_ why I'm allwired up: I am in a hospital.

SHIT. Please don't tell me that they did an ultra-sound on me, or anything. Oh please please please please please.

If they did, they would totally figure out that I'm not pregnant, or ever was, and I will be totally screwed. Like, all the way in the wall screwed.

Maybe this _is_ a dream, a horrible, stupid dream. Maybe, if I close my eyes and open them again, all this will be gone. I'll be back in my dorm, where I'll be safe and incredibly far from the high frequency sound waves that are able to penetrate through the skin of my belly and tell people that there's nothing inside but the chicken and bread that I had at the weird French restaurant by the lake.

But when I do, close my eyes and open them again, I'm still in the hospital. I lift up my head to try and better assert my surroundings, which, I realize a second later, is a really bad idea: a fresh wave of pain hits me and I'm forced to lie back down again.

And poor Jesse, my falling unconscious has made him so delusional that he started ringing off all the possible scenarios that might have triggered my loss of consciousness.

I, getting annoyed, put my hand over his mouth.

"Jesse, we will find out what's wrong when the doctors come, k? Anyway, you're giving me a headache," I say, taking my hand off off his mouth.

"Sorry," Jesse says, carefully sitting down on the hospital bed, "I…I'm just really glad that you're ok." Then, smiling at me---this makes my heart jump as though it's hyped up on happy gas---he takes my hand (all nonchalant) and puts it through his. I notice that it's really warm. This warmth seems to spread in tingles to all parts of my body until it finally collects at my face, which suddenly becomes really hot. Like, kettle-boiling hot.

"Well, I'm glad that you're glad that I'm ok," I say, smiling giddily up at him. What am I saying? What's wrong with me? I wonder how much medication (non-harmful to the fake baby) they gave me for me to enter this kind of stage.

"Querida," Jesse says softly, and, even though I have no comprehension of what that word means---it doesn't sound like anything bad. I mean, it's just one word, what possibly bad thing could he say that fits into just one word? Like, it can't mean: all that I've just said is a big fat lie, in truth, I really despise you. Even though I'm sure that that's how he actually feels---itmakes my heart turn over and renew its hyperactive state.

"Of course I care that you're ok, I…you're my friend," Jesse continues.

Did you hear that? He saidI'm hisfriend when just a second ago he called mesomething in Spanish, a word that might possibly declare more than just his friendly feelings for me---or he could just be calling me a whore. I mean I did get pregnant. What's more, I'm not even really sure of who the father is --- and all I got stuck with is the title of friend.

But who am I kidding? It obviously does not mean anything romantic. It probably means friend, or pal, or small pathetic kid. And why do I care, really? It's not like I like him or anything. In fact, up until before I wound up at the hospital, I was about ready to throw a television screen on top of him. And, just because he goes off calling me names in a language that I can't understand doesn't mean I'm going to like him any better, especially when he starts touching my hand, which makes me go all giddy inside, and I don't ever remember allowing him to do that.

Just then, the hospital people come and he lets go of my hand.

This burly doctor guy comes over to me, says his name is, gulp, Dr. Krendle, and that he has results.

Shit.

Ok, to illustrate how fully deep in shit I am, I want you to double a shit, multiply it by one hundred, add two thousand, multiply that by three hundred, and, only then, will you get the shit that I'm in.

I mean, _this_ _is Dr. Krendle_, the guy with whom I supposedly had an appointment with to discuss the paternity of my baby's father, and, here is him now, about to read out the results pertaining to my loss of consciousness. And Jesse _obviously_ knows that it was Dr. Krendle to whom I gave the hairs for the paternity test. However,if no baby-related questions come up, then I'm safe, but, if they do come up, then I'm dead meat. I opt for the first stipulation because I don't want to die yet, but I know that that won't happen. With my luck it's going to be option two.

I've had a good life so far, I think. Too bad it's going to end so soon.

"Ok, the results," Dr. Krendle announces, "it's quite peculiar, really, we've no idea why you would lose consciousness. There is no trace of medication in your blood," he says, "no sign of illness. We think it might just be exhaustion, or maybe lack of oxygen intake. Nothing really suggest otherwise. And, um, the fall didn't cause any damage, you're really lucky, no concussion or anything, so…you should feel just fine."

"Thank you, doctor," Jesse says, "if you find anything else you're always welcome to contact us." US? So now we're "us"?

"Of course," the doctor says.

"Sir, um, I was wondering," Jesse starts to say, "_since_ _Susannah is pregnant_, if there was any harm done to her baby, you know, because of the fall."

WHAT? DID YOU HEAR THAT? Jesse doesn't know that it was Dr. Krendle with whom I'd discussed my pregnancy. I mean, he had to _tell_ Dr. Krendle that I'm pregnant,and really,you'd think that the doctor with whom I had an appointment with to discuss my being pregnant would already _know_ that I'm pregnant. I _totally _thought that, along with knowing about my pregnancy, Jesse would be in on the fact of which doctor sent me to the lab in the first place. But, don't get me wrong, I think that that's good, because if Jesse believed that it was Dr. Krendle with whom I'd discussed my pregnancy with, he'd be really surprised when the doctor knew nothing about it.This would set off a whole bunch of questions that I really would rather not answer.

"Well, we'd have to perform an ultra-sound---" Dr. Krendle begins to say.

"Oh, no, it's fine," I interrupt hurriedly. Jesse gives me a very dirty look. "I'm sure that nothing at all is wrong. I mean, I'm the mother, right?" I ask, laughing hysterically, " I can feel if there is anything wrong with my baby, and, I…I don't feel like there's anything wrong."

Of course there's nothing wrong. There _is_ no freakin' baby.

"Well, we could still do it, to make sure," the doctor says patiently.

"Oh, no, really, there's no need, and anyway, I hear ultra-sound is really bad for the baby, I wouldn't want anything to harm it," I reply. PLEASE, just let it go.

"Well, all right, if you feel that way," Dr. K says smilingly, "It really is your choice, isn't it?"

There is a God and he does love me. But, at the moment, _Jesse_ feels anything _but_ love for me, not that he felt anything like love beforehand but he was sure as hell never going to feel it. For me, anyway.

Not that I cared, really.

When the team of doctors leaves, Jesse and I are left on our own, and, I swear to god that, at this moment, I'd rather be in the company of Dr. Krendle than Jesse.

Jesse starts off with, "Susannah, what were you thinking? Do you know how much damage a fall can do to a baby? How could you possibly refuse an ultra-sound?"

"I…dono," is all I manage to squeak out. He can be real scary sometimes. He starts to pace back and forth. After he's satisfied with all his pacing, he comes over to me and sits down on the chair beside me.

Sighing heavily he says, "I'm sorry, I have no right making your decisions," and gives me an ultra-Jessified-sad look.

"Jesse," I start to say. I totally cannot ignore the look he is giving me, "I didn't request an ultra-sound because I don't need one. I mean, I didn't even hurt _myself_ during the fall, and, since the baby is not at all developed yet, there is no way any damage could have been done to _it_," I retort, saying everything at top speed, "so stop worrying about it."

Jesse just stares at me, then, after a few seconds he, completely changing the subject, says, "Right then, so, how long are you planning to stay?"

"Stay where?" I ask. Am I the stupidest kid in the world, or what?

"At the hospital," he says pointedly. I am the stupidest kid in the world. How can Jesse possibly stand me? Him, being an intellectual genius---I've seen the marks that he's getting, and, let me tell you, they're higher than the empire state building---and me, not comprehending even the simplest of questions.

"Well, I kind of plan on leaving today," I say nonchalantly, trying to shrug off my initial stupidity.

Letting out a humorless little laugh he says, all serious, "No, you can't do that, what if something else happens?"

Something else happens? Like what? Does he think that on an exhaustion diagnosis I'm going to just drop dead as soon as I walk out of here?

"Jesse, nothing is going to happen," I say, stating each word separately.

I don't know, though. _Was_ I exhausted?

I mean, how exhausted could I have been in order to fall unconscious?

Jesse raises his eyebrows quizzically, "Querida," he says, "I…are you sure you wouldn't want to stay one more day, maybe let them do some more tests, just to make sure."

"Yes, I am sure, and stop calling me that," I say. I mean for all I know it _could_ mean whore, and, do I really want to be called that?

"All right then, I'll go sign you out," he says, exiting the room reluctantly.

When he's gone, I lie staring at the wall. I notice that the house pictures I saw earlier are gone. Maybe I imagined them, what in my delusional state and all those blurry hospital lights.

A few seconds later Dr. Krendle comes back and helps me un-stick all the "sensors used to measure my heartbeat and temperature," as he put it.

Once I am unhooked, and Dr. D leaves, I manage to haul myself off off the bed or Jesse manages to haul me off off the bed, whatever, same difference.And, though I am still a little dizzy, with Jesse's help, I manage to safely escort myself out of the hospital.

A/N: hoped you liked it.


	13. depressing day

Sorry sorry sorry, 1000 apologies. I know I haven't updated for so long but I was sooo soooo busy. University entrance depended upon my constant studying and passing exams. I couldn't even watch television, my ultimate favorite hobby, so there was no way I could get even a little writing in. And I couldn't do anything until now because I had to do stuff with friends. I'm making this one real short so that I can update quick. I promise to make a longer next one. HOPE you enjoy.

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"What are you doing?" Jesse says, staring at me as though I'm a mental health patient trying to escape from the ward.

"What does it look like, Jesse?" I say, eyeing him curiously. I'm standing outside of his dorm, my dancing shoes balancing precariously on the edge of my hand as I slightly tilt my head to one side.

"You can't go dancing in this state," he says, looking me up and down. I washed my hair just this morning and put on my new Chanel shirt, so he can't be referring to my physical appearance. At least I hope he isn't, what with the way he's eyeing me.

"In this state?" I say, reiterating his words, "Jesse, I'm not dying, you know?" I say, rolling my eyes. Wow, you fall unconscious _once_ and this happens? Paranoid and high-blood pressured Jesse constantly feels the need to monitor me.

"I'm going to go alone if you're not coming," I state firmly, turning my head around and beginning my journey to the elevator. Jesse, finally giving up, closes his dorm door and follows me down the hall.

"But if you feel at all ill we're heading back, ok?" he says, looking me straight in the eye as we reach the elevator doors, a look that makes me feel all jittery inside.

"K," I reply in my Jesse personalized high-pitched voice. I fake a smile.

Jesse gives me a very stern look.

The elevator doors open and we carefully step across the threshold separating the hall from the elevator floor.

The doors of the elevator close.

I lay my head on the wall, closing my eyes as the elevator hums its incessant tune.

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I've gotten worse. At dance, that is. Yep. It's remarkable, I know. Boris is very upset with me. I never will reach live, squirming tuna, will I? Forever I shall dance like the highly talked about dead tuna.

Dead tuna and I are incredibly similar souls, if you think about it. Neither of can dance, we're both dead---me socially, the tuna, well, literally---and neither one of us will ever receive a second, much less a first, glace from a semi-cute, ok, maybe even just a decent-he'll-do-no-I-am-not-thirty-years-older-than-you guy.

Take this as an example: after dance class, after Jesse dropped me off at the mall---where I told him to drop me off 'cause I promised to meet up with a friend (not really, I just needed to buy some new pants, but I wasn't going to tell him that), this being met with fierce resistance from Jesse's side: "You're still weak!"--- a fifty-year-old man came up to me and asked me for my number. I stared at him in this horrified sort of way, my look screaming 'pedophile!' Afterwards, I just sort of walked off, smiling in this creepy sort of way.

Sheesh, I'm not asking for much. Just let him be at least ten years closer to my age (preferably older) and not sex-deprived.

I'm not even asking for good-looking. Really, to qualify for a career as my boyfriend you must:

a. Not be a murderer

b. Not be fifty years old

c. Be breathing

d. Be of average intelligence

e. Have an inkling of a personality

f. Optional: Be attracted to women

That's all. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently so.

As I'm walking along I can't help but stare at the food court. I'm so hungry. I haven't had anything since breakfast, and now it's almost five o'clock. I've been walking around aimlessly for hours, looking for pants. Everything is either to expensive or won't fit my oversized-and-growing-daily butt.

I know I shouldn't, but slowly, as though I'm hypnotized, I storm off to the ever-inviting food court, my mouth salivating like a dog's.

Gosh, no wonder no guy will have me, I'm a beast.

I order fries with a (cry!) cheeseburger. I eat it in under a minute, that's how hungry I am. The guy sitting across from me is staring at me as though he's never seen anything more beastly. I'm sure that not even the zoo could possibly provide anything more exotic and disturbing than me.

This was definitely not the sort of glancing that I was hoping to get from a guy. Good going Suze, one more point for you.

After I'm done eating, I walk off, throwing away the remains of my burger (the wrapper, only thing I couldn't eat) and walk off to try and find pants that could possibly cover my overflowing rear.

I don't even understand how _Jesse_ can handle me, as annoying as he can be. I must be such a pain, him having to nurse me every second of the day. No wonder he gave me the nutrition sheet listing all the things I must consume in order to give birth to a healthy, much less alive baby. I know that he already recognizes the symptoms of the pig disorder that I have been carrying around since birth. Poor Jesse, he tries to give me nutritional advice and what do I do? I take his advice and throw it away, or I might have crumpled it up and placed (carelessly dropped) it in a really cobweb-infested corner.

And still he gets on my case with my eating habits, which I completely ignore (the sickly worm that I am) every chance he gets.

I just have to face up to the fact that I'll never be able to change, and the lump on my back will continue to grow until it swallows me up.

I enter a store called _Three Pregnant Ladies_ (Oh god! Three!) _and their Husbands_, looking around for anything that could possibly fit me. Hey, I am technically pregnant, so soon I'll have to start showing, however much I'm not looking forward to that.

And, success, I find pants that fit.

You can never lay aside the pregnancy clothes store, I always say. Well, I'll start saying that from today onwards.

The pants are very airy and flow quite comfortably with my body. I'm very happy to have found them. I feel like the pants and I are developing a bond.

"Ma'am," I hear the store-lady call out to me. I hardly even heard her, what with me welling in a bowl of happiness at my newfound joy.

I turn around to face her, annoyed with her for bringing me out of my euphoria, "ya?" I reply.

"Umm, I am sorry to inform you that you are wearing men's pants," she says, looking quite sympathetic as she stares down at my ensemble.

"Uh, oh," I utter, dumbfounded. It is completely silent for a whole ten seconds. "I guess I'll just change back now," I manage to say, giving out a pathetic little laugh. With a stupor I head off to the changing rooms, the soaring balloon that a few moments ago was lifting up my pants-dream was slowly losing its air, dropping into the never-ending depths of hell right in front of me.

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When I came home I beganmy research for my criminology assignment that Mr. Bright brightly announced on Thursday, to everyone's disappointment. It was going to be due in a month, but I wanted to get an early start on it 'cause it had to be real good. I do needto keep my marks in the nineties,you know,for that stupid contest.

He's making us write an essayabout how criminals are born.Yippee, how fun.

I got as far as the introduction before I went to sleep.

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_I'm in the same place, the same dark corridor with fog crowding in on me. _

_My lungs get filled up with fog and I can't breathe. I'm reaching out, trying to clasp onto something solid in the murky shadows._

_The doors on both sides stretching to infinity, the stars above are making me dizzy. _

_I see something run towards me, something with a piercing yellow gaze. I start to run in the opposite direction; afraid of what will happen when the figure catches me._

_The muscles on my legs start to hurt but I don't seem to move. The figure draws nearer. My heart beats faster, fear absorbing every fiber of my being. _

_I cry out as a dark hole opens up and swallows me. _

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A/N: sorry haven't written for so long. Hope you like.


	14. boy dilemma

Hey, I'm updating a new chappie, and this one's longer. Enjoy!

Well, you will enjoy if you read it.

And it was my birthday a few days ago, well, not really a few days ago. It was more like a few weeks ago, but it would have been my birthday a few days ago if I had updated when I was supposed to. Sorry. I've been busy. Again. My apologies.

I am now 18! Yay!

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I awoke abruptly, sweat pouring down my face.

Lifting my head up off my bed (just to make sure I _am_ in bed) I discover that I've a major headache coming on. I slowly let my head drop back down onto the pillow.

As I lie back down, thoughts start to fly across my mind. They go something like this: I've had that dream before, if you can really call it a dream and not some nightmare from hell. All that stuff: the doors, the Hall. Fog. What can it all mean?

I've got to relax. It's _just_ a dream.

Relax. Breathe in. Breathe Out. Breathe I---

Just then, in the middle of my breathe in, Dana barges into the dorm screaming. I realize, from the clock sitting on my bedside table, that it is already ten thirty, and I have about thirty minutes to get to English class.

Dana's screaming worsens the pain inhibiting my head. I try to make the screaming stop by voicing out a feeble, "make it quiet again."

God, what could she possibly be screaming about this early in the morning?

"Suze, guess what, guess what!" she squeals, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"You got perfect on your biology assignment," I say unenthusiastically, closing my eyes in a sad attempt to try to get back to sleep (even though I _should_ really be getting ready for class).

"No," she says, shaking her head so hard that her hair flutters back and forth across her face. "Guess!"

I try to mentally shut out Dana's voice by squeezing my eyes really tight. This convinces me further that 'mind over matter' is just a bunch of bull as Dana's voice, contrary to my mind's desires, only gets louder.

"Oh, come on," she says, trying to drag me out of bed. She lifts up my head and bores her blue eyes into my sleepy ones. "Matt asked me out…again!" she squeals, pulling my head to one side while smiling in this crazed sort of way, "but, this time I said yes, that I'd go out with him. I mean, I was afraid to say yes the first time because it obviously wouldn't have gone anywhere," she continues, pulling my head to the other side, giving me a very distorted view of her face, making her look a little possessed, "…. I wasn't going to stay in school but now I might be…" she continues saying, now violently shaking my face, "…that you entered the contest…and it doesn't seem as pointless…blah blah blah," more talk, eyes are closing "…. blah blah blah."

She can really let it loose when she wants to, I swear. I don't know how I managed to escape her grasp, but I did, gulping down three Tylenols on my way out no less.

On my way to class I managed, lucky me, to bump into Jesse, who told me that I look like crap, though not in such derogatory terms. I mean, we're talking about Jesse here. He never says crap, or at least I've never heard him say it. I don't know really know though, maybe, and it's a bighesitant maybe, he says it when he's out with his friends or...

Anyway, back on track, after his commentary, I told him, sarcastically, how pleased I was to at least once in my life receive a compliment from him.

That comment earned me a look from the Jesse, and a smile, reluctantly let out. Then he walked off, shrugging his shoulders in this exasperatted sort of way. I can't say I blame him for giving up on me so fast. I'm a heck to deal with.

Can you believe, that after the Dana torture and Jesse commentary, I still wasn't late for class? I know. I was amazed too. I came just in time to hear Mrs. Johnson screech the next lesson to us. Lucky is me.

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Guess what? (Damn, I'm becoming like Dana) After class, like, right after class, guess who I ran into? (I'm truly a Dana clone) It was that Paul guy, the one I met at the mall, or at the grocery store or wherever, where I was buying junk food.

This is how it went: I was walking out of English class totally not looking where I was going when I ran smack into him, afterwards apologizing for my moment of utter stupidity. HE, the Paul dude, didn't seem to mind at all, in fact, after I annoyed the heck out of him with my complaint about teachers who screech when they talk into their microphone (i.e Mrs. Johnson), he asked me if maybe I wanted to "go out for some coffee sometime or something."

_But_, I told him, like the dumb moron that I am (completely not realizing that he was sort of maybe asking me out) that I didn't want to go get some coffee with him sometime. Well, not in those exact words, but he still got the drift.

I must have been so drugged at the time, because the guy, this Paul fella, yeah, uh, he was HOT. Like, way way _way_ hot, and I, me, drugged loser, just gave up an opportunity to go out with a hunk like him.

Was that the dumbest move ever performed by the oh-so-talented Suze? I think that ranks pretty high up there, right along with the ice-cream-tied-around-the-head incident. I must tell Dana to tell Paul that I "said no to the coffee getting because I'm kind of busy now---and "sorry I sort of snapped at him" perched somewhere in between that sentence there---but maybe we can get the coffee some time later, like tomorrow."

I better go tell Dana right now, before I forget.

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"No, mov' dis vay, bend like zat, not like zat," Boris instructed. I don't really know what the difference between "zat" and "zat" is, but what I begin doing seems to work, so go me. And, hear this, I've only stepped on Jesse once. ONCE. Now _that_ is truly an accomplishment.

I was especially happy today, compliments to the fact that I, me, was going to go "grab a coffee" with the hot Paul fella right after dance class. I told Dana to tell Paul that I was sorry for snapping at him earlier and I that I do really really want to go out for a coffee with him. Paul, as Dana told me, accepted the apology and told her to tell me that I should meet him tomorrow (which is really today, Tuesday) at Starbucks at eight.

I was so happy I could hardly breathe. A real boy wanted to go get some coffee with me, and he wasn't at all repulsed by my appearance. Like, how many times does that happen?

Not too often.

So, as I was thinking how this was totally too good to be true, I accidentally ended up stepping on Jesses' extra long pants and falling, quite inelegantly, on my butt.

That earned me some more shouting from Boris, who told me I should look where I'm going: "Luk vere go, idiat."

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No! No! No! I am SO late. Oh please _please_ don't leave. It's TWENTY past eight. Boris kept us in extra late trying to convince me that the hips are not just two giant floorboards, that, yes they _can_ move and stuff.

I argued the opposite, stating that no matter what you did to them, my hips were going to stay as stiff as the wall.

And now I'm late.

For a date.

With a hot mate.

And I know I can't rhyme to save my life.

Gosh, I just hope that Paul's still there. If something out there in the world loves, or fancies me even just a little, I hope they can keep him there until I arrive.

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No, nothing out there loves, fancies, or tolerates me at all. AT. ALL. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Hunky Paul was gone when I arrived. He must think I stood him up. I'll bet he'll never again bother to ask me out, or much less talk to me. Ever.

Why? Why must this happen to me? Is this the price I have to pay for being a compulsive liar? Well, when you think about it, I did sort of deserve that.

Sadly, I head on home, back to my lonely, air-conditionless dorm.

When I arrived at my dorm, I told Dana to tell Paul (Oh god, how many times must this pass-this-on-to-Paul-thing happen?), _when_ she next saw him, that I did not stand him up, that I was released late from work (I forbade her to tell him the actual reason for my lateness, which was, of course, dance class), and I hope he isn't mad.

I really hope he isn't mad, because if he is there goes my chance with the _only_ boy who would _ever_ dare to ask me out.

I am now sulking in front of my homework, too upset to digest the material that Mr. Borcowitz tried so hard to force into our unwilling minds.

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Josh called me. Uh huh. THE Josh. I'm amazed. All the embarrassment you can possibly throw a guy has been thrown, and he _still_ comes back.

What does he possibly see in me?

A good murder victim?

I'm kind of honored to be the CHOSEN one. Kind of freaked. But nonetheless honored.

Out of all the potential girls, he chose me as the one he wants to kill. How sweet.

I really must get on with the case. I mean REALLY get on with it, before any more funny business begins. Like, I know he is planning another murder, and that is not the kind of stuff I'm looking forward to, especially if his next victim might be, well, ME.

Oh yeah, let's get back to the Josh called me. He asked me if I was mad because of what happened at the restaurant. After what seemed like hours of reassuring him that "no, I was not mad," he finally left the subject alone and got onto the subject of me, of me meeting him. Of US coming together in a formal meetage---pardon the made-up word---party.

I say yes, of course. I'd love to meet him. Again.

I also said that he is the greatest guy I've ever been out with. Only I never mentioned that he was the only guy I've EVER been out with.

All in all, he seemed really happy.

Oh, and he's picking me up at my dorm building on Saturday. At eight.

We're going somewhere (duh), only I don't know where cause he wouldn't tell me. Is that a good sign?

Whatever. I am back in business.

And onto my next class----which is sociology, by the way.

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A/N: Sorry this one is short too, but I wanted to update as soon as possible. I promise I'll update again before school starts.


	15. back to the beginning

Next chappie is up, sorry it's so short.

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_I follow Kelly Prescott down the stairs until we reach the first-floor landing. This is the point where she turns around to face me. _

"_Suze," she says, her face all at once serious, "if anything at ALL goes wrong, I will never EVER let you live it down. Do you understand?"_

_I nod my head. _

"_This is the most IMPORTANT night of our lives, nothing can possibly go wrong," she goes on, talking mostly to herself. _"_Has everything been set up?" Kelly asks, turning around to face me. _

"_Yes, I talked to Father Dom just a few seconds ago, everything is ready to go," I reply, giving her a frightened sort of smile. _

"_All right," she says, sighing. "Well, don't just stand there, let's go!" she demands. _

_She opens the door and we exit through it. _

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"Uh huh, yes," I say, speaking into the phone. "That's great, thank you…uh huh, bye," I say, hanging up the phone.

That was the lab, with the 'results.' The hairs I gave into the lab, they belong to Josh. My suspicions were proven correct, or at least Gabrielle's testimony was spot-on.

Gosh, I wonder why the police never found anything. It wasn't like it was tucked away in some hidden corner, or something. It was out in plain view. Did anybody even know that that was where Gabrielle was murdered?

Maybe that's it, probably nobody knew Gabrielle was murdered there. Perhaps they found her body abandoned in some alley or something and never connected it to the broken-down building Gabrielle sent me to.

But what am I going to do now? If nobody knows, or even suspects, that the broken-down building was the place Gabrielle was murdered in, finding any evidence in there to convict Josh would be useless, because, first of all, since the place wasn't closed down for inspection right after the murder, anybody could have come there since her death and left their imprints in the building. Therefore, any evidence found in there _now_ would be void and obviously useless in making any convictions. Secondly, since nobody knows that a murder took place in there, the hairs would do what, tell them that somebody once walked in the building?

How come I never thought of this _before_?

I am now _way_ back to where I started.

Should I go to the police? Tell them that I witnessed the event?

I as good as did, witness the event, I mean, Gabrielle can pretty much tell me everything that happened.

Maybe I should just stick it out with Josh for a while longer, perhaps our weekly meetings will lead somewhere.

I just hope that nobody else gets murdered while I do my digging.

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Just before my criminology class, Dana enters our dorm.

"So, how was your date?" I ask her slyly. Wednesday night was big date night for Dana (school night, I know, she's a daredevil (and I couldn't be prouder)) with her Mr. Hunk man Matt. She begins to blush as soon as the question comes out of my mouth.

"It was so wonderful, Suze," she begins to say, her eyes twinkling. "He was such a perfect gentleman…opening the car door for me…. ordering the best food…"

I bet.

She really snatched up some worthy piece of man, didn't she? Lucky lucky Dana.

Unexpectedly, I start to feel a numb sensation flowing through my head. I put my hand up to my forehead as I begin to feel a pain perching its gnarly feet up there.

I look up at Dana. Suddenly, and very sickeningly, her face begins twisting in a kaleidoscope whirl. When Dana's face stops whirling, the left side of her face begins to peel off, revealing large third-degree burns and flaky patches of dark skin.

It looks like something dead.

My eyes pop open in horror. I tilt my head to confirm what I'm seeing. My eyes continue to establish the same ordeal: the left side of Dana's face is completely burned off and laced with black patches of skin.

Fixed in front of this scene, my body loses all sensation, becoming paralyzed until all I can do is just sit there and stare at her face.

Dana looks at me as though I've just grown a beard and have undergone a full man morph.

"What, what's wrong?" she asks, concern written all over her face.

I close my eyes.

Please make it go away, please make it go away.

I open my eyes again and the burns on Dana's face are gone. I let out a sigh of relief.

Dana comes up close to me. "Hey, are you ok?" She asks me, still very much concerned about me.

"Yes, I'm fine," I reply, still shaky. I turn my face away from her, "...a little headache…just need to get some fresh air," I mutter to myself, getting up off the bed. I walk across the floor to the door.

I hear Dana's voice as I shut the door behind me.

Oh god. I rub my eyes as the elevator doors close.

The pressure of everything must be getting to me: the contest, school, Josh and his crazy killing-spree-to-be.

I haven't gotten an inch of sleep.

I look at myself in the elevator mirror. No wonder Jesse's been so worried about me. My eyes look bloodshot. I look terrible.

I am now hallucinating. Can things get any worse?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I will now lead a full-fledged discussion about my dream. If you're wondering, it is Friday night and I am fully recovered from my hallucinatory experience.

Ok, back to the dream. I mean, I got to say, for somebody who never really gets any sleep, my dreams manage to somehow find themselves a spot during the times when I do get a chance to dose off, ruthlessly pushing aside any hint of _peaceful_ slumber.

Anyway, what is it with these Kelly dreams? It's not like I really saw her that much back when I was in High School, why should she show up _now_ in my dreams?

Yes, I know I said it was going to be a long rant, but since she already visits me in my sleep, I don't really want any more of her visitations in my speech, so I shall stop talking about her, and hopefully stop dreaming about her, because that's really creepy.

Now I shall go to bed, praying for no more Kelly in the sleep.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A/N: I apologize for the shortness, but I'm in University now and my time is very limited. I hope you enjoy and sorry I didn't get it out before school started like I promised.


	16. dying time

Sorry for not updating for so long. I hope you like it. Review.

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"Is this your handbag?" I ask Dana, knowing fully well that she doesn't have any handbags. "It's a Louis Vuitton."

"No, it isn't," Dana answers.

"It must be mine then," I say. "That's weird, I don't even remember buying it."

"Are you going to use it for your date?" Dana asks, her eyes lighting up.

"I might," I reply, putting on a classy-looking black dress. I have my date today. My date with Josh. However, I haven't told Jesse this, because he might go crazy again, though I have no clue as to why.

He can be so weird sometimes. No, scratch that. All the time.

I pack my knife and all my other mediator utensils into the Louis Vuitton handbag, just in case I happen to need any of them.

I got my make-up on in a few minutes, and, thank god, because right after Josh called me, saying that he was waiting for me downstairs.

"I'll see you later, Dana," I say, heading out the door. I hope I'll see her later.

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"Hey mom, this is Susannah."

"Josh, you're finally here," Josh's mom says excitedly. "So...this is Susannah. I finally get to meet you, Josh talks an awfully lot about you."

I'm flattered.

Oh, if you're wondering, Josh drove us to his house. He said he needed to "pick up his mom."

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. WEIRDO.

Me and Josh and his mom are all going on a date. How lovely.

"It's nice to meet you," I say, shaking her hand. "You...uh...you have a very lovely house."

What am I saying?

Well, the house _is_ really nice looking. That's one of its many attributes, enormous being another one. This is the biggest house I've ever seen in my life, and, having lived in Carmel, California, that's saying a lot.

"Oh, thank you," she says, giving me a wide smile.

She's really very nice. I feel sorry that she got stuck with a killer for a son.

"Mind if I steal her for a while?" Josh says to his mom.

"Oh no, not at all," she says, "as long as you bring her back."

"Of couse," he says. "When I come back I want you to be ready, got it?" he says in a mock serious voice.

"All right," she says, giving him a fleeting smile.

I follow Josh into the reception room. "You can make yourself comfortable," he says.

I sit down on the couch.

"So, you like the house?" he asks me. I nod. "Yeah, but we live in a really isolated place, hardly anyone ever passes through here."

No sooner did he say that when the phone rang.

Josh picks it up and starts talking to whoever it is on the other line. This could be important. I attempt to eavesdrop.

Damn, I can't hear what he's saying.

"I'll be right back," I say to him, "I just need to go over to the washroom."

Josh nods at me.

I hastily head over to the next room and pick up the phone.

"When are you doing it?" I hear a voice say on the other end.

"In a few minutes, is everything ready?" Josh asks.

"Yes, everything is set," the other voice says. "Bring the girls over as soon as you can."

The girls? Who can he possibly mean by that? Could that include me?

"I will," Josh says. "So, I'll see you there, all right?" he says.

"All right," the other voice says and Josh hangs up.

I slowly put down the phone and head back over to the reception room.

"I'm back," I say, trying to sound as cheerful as I can given the fact that I might be a murder victim in a few minutes.

"Good," he says, "I've got something that I have to take of real quick, would you mind waiting for me in my room?"

"Oh no, not at all," I say, giving him a very painful smile.

"All right," he says, leading me upstairs to his room.

"Stay here until I'm back, all right?" Josh says. "I'll be quick."

I nod my head and he closes the door.

Shit. I've got to do something.

What was it that the other guy said on the phone: _"Bring the girls..."_

What could he possibly mean by that?

And where would these "girls" be taken?

I sit down on his bed. Should I follow him, or should I just wait here?

I look around his room. There's nothing here to suggest that Josh might be a merciless killer, but then, why would there be?

I look down at the floor.

There's a picture, lying next to his bed. it's a picture of a woman. Josh circled her face with a marker and wrote up on top, "ELIMINATE."

She seems really familiar.

Oh god, how could I forget?

_"Hey mom, this is Susannah."_

_"...so this is Susannah. I finally get to meet you, Josh talks an awfully lot about you."_

It's Josh's mom. OH MY GOD. Josh is planning to kill his own mother.

And he's going to do it real soon too.

I have to warn her. First, I have to get out of here.

I go over to the door and pull on the doorknob. Shit. It's locked.

I stride over to the window. Jammed.

How do I get out of here? Panic starts to settle in at the pit of my stomach.

I here a clattering coming from downstairs.

I'm going to be too late if I don't get out of here.

Shit. Is there no other way out of here?

I just realized, after he finishes with his mom, he's going to come after me.

What was it that he said earlier: _"we live in a really isolated place, hardly anyone ever passes through here."_

Oh, this is bad. If I die, no one will find out until at least a few _days_ after.

"Please don't this do this Josh," I hear his mom say from downstairs. "You're going to kill me."

"As is my plan," Josh says, laughing.

Not good. Think Susannah, think.

"What about Susannah?" Josh's mom says.

"I'll get her after I'm done here," Josh says.

Outside, it starts to rain.

A few seconds later I hear him climbing up the stairs.

I hear thunder roaring outside.

Before he reaches the landing, all the lights go out.

He's now standing right in front of the door.

I look around his room for something that might come in useful.

It's too late. Josh opens the door and calmly says, "OK, we can go now."

He's holding something that looks somewhat like a gun.

For a second all I can do is just sit still.

"Where are we going?" I manage to ask.

"I can't tell you, that's why I brought these," he says, waving a blindfold at me, "I want you to put it on." he continues saying, not sounding at all like what a killer should sound like. He sounds surprisingly calm, like this is all just a game. What a sicko.

He's still pointing the gun at me. I can't do anything. If I don't obey him, he'll kill me.

I put the blindfold on and follow him out. I have to do what he says, for now anyway.

Josh leads me outside, where he opens the door to his car and sits me down in the back seat.

I hear someone beside me say: "This is crazy."

It's Josh's mom.

Good, he hasn't killed her. There is still hope.

I wonder where he's taking us? And why he didn't tie us up? We could escape at any moment.

It's completely silent throughout the whole car ride.

I feverishly begin to think up of a way that we can escape. I am so focused on my thoughts that I don't even notice when the car comes to a stop.

Josh opens the door and both me and his mom exit the car.

"You can take the blindfolds off now," he says.

I walk over slowly to where Josh is standing. I came up with the most brilliant plan for escape. I hastily take off my blindfold and prepare myself to attack Josh when I see it.

Right in front of me is a restaurant. Oh, but it's not just any restaurant. It's called ELIMINATE, the same word that was written on his mom's picture.

What's going on here?

"Do you like it?" Josh says, speaking to the both of us.

"Oh Josh, it's wonderful," his mom says. "But why did you have to blindfold us up like that?"

"Well, I wanted it to be a surprise," Josh says.

I don't get it. What's happening?

Am I dreaming? This would definitely explain a lot.

Oh, and the gun that I thought I saw earlier, I now realize that it wasn't a gun. It's a rose.

It was so dark that I couldn't tell what it was.

Thank god I didn't take any drastic measures and beat the crap of out Josh. That wouldn't have gone too well with this whole family bondage thing.

"You might want to explain to Susannah, she's looking very confused," his mom said.

Josh smiled at me, "Oh, sorry. A few years ago I started up my own company, and I've been working on this project, the restaurant, for a while now. The restaurant got its name after my mom's favorite video game, eliminate. This is sort of her birthday present, so I'm glad that we finished it just in time. I wanted both of you to see it first, before it officially opened."

"So, no one is going to die?" I ask, breathing out a sign of relief.

"Die, why would anyone die?" Josh asks me.

Oh. god. What am I saying?

"Oh, I just got a bit nervous because I heard your mom say something about dying," I say. Actually, what she said was: _"you're going to kill me,"_ but I wasn't going to mention that to Josh, he probably things I'm weird enough as it is.

"Oh, because she thought that the whole blindfold idea was a little much, she was just kidding with me."

"Oh...right, of course," I say, starting to laugh in this frightened sort of way. Josh eyes me in a manner that seems to me to say, 'what is wrong with her?'

After the look he gives me I immediately stop the crazed laughing.

Seriously, if he wanted to kill me, he didn't need to do it with a gun. Jokes like these...

"Oh here, this is for you," Josh says, giving me the rose.

"Thank you," I say. "Um...Josh," I say, remembering the door, "why was the door to your room locked?"

"Locked, what do you mean?" he asks, puzzled.

"Well, when I tried to open it---"

"Did you pull on the door?" He asks me. I nod. "Oh, well, you're supposed to push on it, that's how it opens."

I never even bothered to try that. I am such a moron. I would have died not because I'm incapable of defending myself, but because I'm a total air-head.

So, this was what he was working on all this time. A restaurant.

That time that I followed him in Dana's car, all he was doing, him and the other guy, was just discussing the restaurant, nothing less, and definitely, nothing more, and, eliminate, the restaurant's name, was devised from his mom's favorite video game, which would explain the picture that I found in his room.

I can't believe I was so stupid.

"So, are you guys going to stand here all day, or are we going to go inside?" Josh asks, smiling at us.

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A/N: I updated. Tell me if you like.


	17. paint it red

Updated as soon as could. I apologize for the ending.

I hope you like it.

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Now that I come to think of it, they did sound like they were joking, Josh and his mom. Back at their house, I mean. And to think, I almost made a complete fool of myself.

"So, how do you like the food?" Josh asks me.

"Oh, it's...it's delicious," I say, shifting my focus to the present.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, I'm inside the restaurant. It's actually kind of cool, the way it's designed, like a giant video game---I'm guessing its supposed to look like ELIMINATE, which was how the restaurant got its name---with the waiters and waitresses dressed like giant shuffling zombies. It's really technological looking, for a restaurant anyway. It reminds me of a giant alien space shuttle, with everything looking very complex and intertwined. I got to hand it to him, he really did an awesome job on this place.

"I know naming a restaurant eliminate is kind of cheesy, but it goes with the look, doesn't it?" Josh's mom says, her eyes lighting up as she looks around.

I nod in agreement.

"Well, I designed it so as to make it look like the game, that is why I named it as such," Josh said.

"I think it looks really awesome," I say, "very high tech."

"You think?" Josh asks me, smiling.

Now that I think about it, Josh is really sort of cute. Especially now, with him being all excited about his restaurant opening and all.

"Uh huh," I say. "I wouldn't lie, you know," I tell him jokingly.

He doesn't seem to be that bad of a guy either, when you think about it.

I think Gabrielle is way wrong about him, there is no way that he could be a psycho-killer. I don't know how a piece of his hair ended up in the place where she was murdered, but I know he couldn't have done it. Just looking at him now, with his mom, I don't see a killer, and I've been around them long enough to be able to tell.

Also, all this time, when I thought that he was attempting to perform a giant killing spree, all he was doing was planning the construction of a giant restaurant, and he created it as a present for his mom. Come on. How could this guy be a killer? How, just tell me?

But why would Gabrielle lie to me? Maybe it was a one time kill, maybe he's not a psycho-killer, just a once time killer? Does that even make any sense?

This is driving me crazy. Eventually, I tell you, I am going to snap.

"Hey, Suze, are you OK?" Josh asks me.

"Yeah, why?" I say, jumping back to reality.

"You looked kind of spaced out, that's all," he says, a worried look on his face.

"No, I'm fine," I say, turning my attention back to the food, which tastes really good by the way.

After we've finished eating, Josh drives both of us home. He drops his mom off first, then he heads off to my place.

"So, how did you like it?" Josh asks me, as we're nearing my dorm.

"I had a very good time," I say, and I wasn't lying either, regardless of whether Josh might or might not be a killer, at which point I very much doubt that he is.

When we arrive, Josh, as usual, opens the door for me and walks me to the door of the building.

"So, I guess I'll see you later then," I say.

"Yeah..." Josh says, as he leans closer to me. He reaches out and softly touches my cheek. This is very unexpected. What should I do?

He leans closer still until his lips softly land on mine. All I can do is just stand there, completely rooted to the spot. This feels wrong for some reason, like this isn't the person I should be kissing. A second later he pulls back.

"Bye," he says, giving me a fleeting smile.

I don't say anything. He turns round and proceeds down the stairs.

I watch as his car pulls out and he drives off.

I open the door to the building and go inside, where I am greeted by none other than, take a huge guess, Jesse.

Just the person I wanted to see. He could not have possibly timed it better.

My head drops into my stomach and, for a while, all I can do is just stare at him.

"Ah, I was jus---" I start to say before he interrupts me. My whole body goes numb.

"It's OK, I understand," he says. Even though his face is completely voide of an expression, I know that he's really mad at me.

A second later he turns to leave.

"Jesse, it's not what you think," I say hurriedly, for lack of anything better to say. What do I mean it's not what he thinks? It's exactly what he thinks. What, did his lips land on mine because he happened to trip into them with his mouth? All I know is that I need to keep him here, to try and explain this very very bad situation.

"So tell me, what is it that I think?" Jesse says angrily.

Oh god, he hates me. He is SO _way_ mad at me.

Wait at minute? I really haven't thought this through, have I, but, why should he be mad at me? I didn't do anything wrong. I was just kissing my date goodnight. Why should I have to apologize for it?

It's just, a feeling that I have...like...he doesn't want me to be with anybody else.

Could it be that he likes me?

There is no way in hell that Jesse could possibly like me. Just the thought of it, seriously. I'm just some dumb freshmen, why the hell would he even want to associate with me if he wasn't strictly entitled to?

He just thinks I'm an idiot because, after recently getting pregnant (so he thinks), I'm going out on dates and stuff. He's trying to look out for my best interests, and what do I do? I disregard everything he says. I guess he has a right to be mad.

But, why am I going out of my way to explain the whole me-kissing Josh thing? Why do I care about him thinking that I might potentially like some other guy?

Could it be because I like _him_? Is this what this is, this weird queasy feeling I get at the pit of my stomach every time I see him?

Why can I never figure anything out?

I feel so wretched. I feel like a giant, disgusting, utterly step-able on slug.

This is when another big mistake happens.

"Jesse, he's the father of my baby," I blurt out. Yep, there I go, me and my big mouth. I didn't think it was possible to screw up any further, but I just did. I didn't mean to say it like that. I just meant it as a sort of excuse as to why I was with him in the first place. But I guess that saying that some guy is the father of the baby you are carrying to some other guy who might potentially like you is a pretty bad idea. I say potentially like you, because how can I otherwise explain Jesse's behavior?

"Oh, right," is all he says before he turns around and leaves me standing there, staring at empty space.

I suddenly feel a chill pass me by.

At this point, something else happens. The bad things never end, do they?

I felt like something just hit me in the head, something extremely heavy, like a baseball bat. The force of it is so intense that I drop down to my knees. I put my hand up to my head and I see that I'm bleeding, quite profusely to tell you the truth.

Plus, my head feels like it's going to split into two.

"Jesse," I call out to him, hoping that he'll hear me and come back, "Jesse, please come back."

Following my head, my stomach, for some unknown reason, begins to hurt like there's no tommorow. I press my hand down on it to try and stop the pain. This, big surprise, has absolutely no effect whatsoever.

"Jesse...," I call out again, my voice raspy.

I lift up the hand that I used to press down on my stomach up to my face and see that it, too, is bleeding. Although I'm sure that it isn't my hand, but my stomach that's bleeding. Oh god. What's happening to me? I look down at my stomach and I see blood. There is blood gushing out of my abdomen. Not slowly either, but pouring out, as though I'm a water fountain or something. Tears begin to stream down my face. I don't know whether it's because of the pain or because of the sight of me bleeding.

At this point, my vision gets really blurred. I see something run towards me.

"Jesse, is that you?" I call out, in this really drowsy voice. I can hardly see anything anything anymore.

It is at this point that darkness closes its curtain around me.

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A/N: Again, I apologize.


	18. back to the white room

Next Chappie is up.

Review.

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I slowly open my eyes. I'm in the hospital again.

In my line of vision, two dark dots appear. They're flecked with bits of red. I realize a second later that they are someone's eyes.

There's a voice accompanying the eyes. It says, really softly, "Susannah."

"Jesse," I say questioningly.

The eyes nod.

"Do you hate me?" Is all I manage to get out.

"No, of course not," Jesse says lightly, running his hand down my hair. "Susannah, I am so sorry, I can't believe I was so stupid, to put you under so much pressure without any regards to what it was doing to you, I---"

"Jesse," I say, interrupting him, "It's not your fault."

"Of course it is, every time something bad happens to you, it's always been because of me," he says. The world suddenly becomes clearer and I am able to see the worried expression on his face.

"It's never been because of you, Jesse, it's just that I'm screwed up," I say, giving out a little laugh, which I realize later, after my stomach retaliates, is a bad idea.

The reason for the redness around his eyes suddenly dawns on me. Could he have been crying? "Jesse, god, I'm so sorry that I'm making you go through this."

"You're not making me go through anything, Susannah," he says softly. He takes my hand, making my intestines and stomach collide in an all-out Sumo-battle. "I'm just glad that you're OK."

I smile at him, as much as I possibly can because the effort of it makes my head spin.

"Do they know what's wrong with me?" I ask, curious.

"No, not yet," he says, still holding onto my hand. Stomach and intestine collide once more, with stomach seemingly winning.

Long pause.

"Umm...there's something I have to say, I know that it's not the greatest time and all, but...you know how your stomach was...well, when they...you know..." he says, talking in fragments, "there was no baby, alive or otherwise...which... which means that you were never pregnant...though I'm sure you know that... I... just...if you don't want to explain then I won't ask," he says, and, looking at my horrified expression he adds, "don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

I completely forgot about the baby. And my stomach!

I feel for it under the sheets. Its been thoroughly bandaged. I see that there is blood on the bandaging.

How badly was I bleeding? _Why_ would be an even better question.

More importantly though is that Jesse knows. He knows I've been lying to him.

I believe him when he says that he won't ask me further, but I know that I've hurt him.

I have to tell him the truth.

But the truth will sound even more farfetched than the lie did.

"Jesse...I...you have to understand...this...this wasn't for me, I...have no idea even know where to start," I say, babbling complete nonsense.

I lift my bandaged hand up to my temple as my head starts to hurt again. Jesse sees me in pain and states, "don't even worry about it, I just want you to focus on getting better, forget I even mentioned anything."

"No, it's all right, you have a right to know," I say. More pain, harder hand pressing on temple.

"No, it's fine, I can see that I'm just making you feel worse, I'll just...I'll just leave you alone," he says, getting up from his chair and proceeding towards the exit.

"No, don't leave, I don't want you to leave," I say desperately.

Jesse turns around to face me. He doesn't say anything. He slowly walks back towards me. When he nears my bed he crouches down until he's level with the bed and me. A second later, he reaches over and softly touches my cheek with the palm of his hand. For a moment all I can do is just stare at him. "Susannah, I lo---"

"OK, the results for your diagnosis have arrived," says the doctor person entering through the door.

Jesse's hand lets go of my cheek, despite the cheek's protest.

"Yeah?" Jesse says, urging her on. He's even more curious than I am about what could possibly be wrong with me.

"Well, actually, we have no idea," she says, "there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you, expect of course a minor concussion and a deep hole in your abdomen, however, the cause of both these phenomena is, medically speaking, unknown as of yet."

"You mean to say that, medically speaking, nothing at all is wrong with me?!?" I ask, a bit more rudely that I'd intended it to sound, "so, spontaneous abdominal bleeding is completely normal?"

"No," she says obviously, "of course not, it's just that there doesn't seem to be a reasonable explanation for it," she ends off, looking at me, "but the hole in your stomach, it goes right through. If, according to our records, there doesn't seem to be any medical cause for it, we suspect it might have been caused by a bullet."

"A bullet? But I hadn't heard anything that sounded even remotely like a gunshot," I say, my eyes wide in surprise. "Right Jesse? You didn't hear anything, did you?"

Jesse shakes his head at me, equally surprised by this as I am.

"And anyway, why would my head start bleeding prior to my stomach? There is completely no correlation between the two."

"The head injury was caused by a blunt object," she says. "Our guess is that someone must have hit you, hard."

"But that's not possibly, no one was there expect me and Jesse," I say incredulously.

I might have suspected Josh to pull this off except that I saw him leave. And, as I've already established, Josh, contrary to Gabrielle's belief, can't possibly be a killer. Sweet, I-built-a- restaurant-for-my-mom's-birthday-Josh, a killer? Puh-lease. It makes me want to laugh out loud, just the thought of it.

The doctor eyes Jesse suspiciously. _I can't believe this. _ She's attempting to blame the inadequacies of the medical system on innocent, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly Jesse?

I know that he _is_ kind of scary looking, but he would never hurt me, not intentionally anyway. Plus, he was walking away from me when all of this happened, so how could he possibly have been the cause of it?

Just the thought makes me sick.

Jesse, instead of rudely trying to disprove the idea of him being considered a suspect in the investigation of my being hit by a blunt object and shot in the stomach, a feat, that, to my knowledge, never occurred, says, "So, is she going to be all right?"

"Yeah, she'll be good to go even as early as tomorrow," she says.

As early? I don't want to stay here even for one night.

"What if I plan to leave tonight, how does that sound?" I ask, my eyes puffed up and acquiring the appearance of pure innocence.

Both the doctor and Jesse pounce on me like wild animals.

It goes something like this:

"Of course not...blah blah blah...you have to heal... blah blah blah...you're still too vulnerable."

After which Jesse says something so incredulous my eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He says, "After these injuries...you have to stay here for at least a week."

A WEEK? Has he gone completely mental?

He's going to kill me. He really will. I know that he is just looking out for my best interests, but a week in here will surely kill me.

"I don't think so Jesse, tomorrow will be just fine," I say, holding my breath. I hope he'll go for it. If he doesn't, I know I won't get out of here until his precious little week passes. Jesse can be really persistent, so much that he could convince the doctors to keep me here for years if he really wanted to.

I won't say that out loud though, it might give him ideas.

"All right, but if you don't get better, I'm not letting you go anywhere," he says, "Have we got an understanding?" He asks me, in a mock stern voice.

I nod my head. OK, that wasn't the smartest idea. The whole head nodding, I mean.

At this point, the doctor person leaves, saying that she's got another patient to go take care of.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Jesse says. He comes up real close to me and softly kisses me on thoroughly bandaged forehead. "Bye."

I wave to him.

He gives me a quick smile and then he proceeds to exit the room, leaving me on my own.

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"So...are you sure you're OK?" Dana asks me for the fifth time.

"Yes, I'm sure," I say, "Have you seen my purse?" I ask, remembering my Louis Vuitton handbag.

"What purse?" She asks me.

"My Louis Vuitton," I say, "I remember bringing it in and putting it on my bed."

"No, haven't seen it," she says, opening up her biology textbook.

I'm sure that I brought it in. How could it be gone? Oh well, it wasn't really mine to begin with so I guess it's OK.

Anyway, I have bigger things to worry about right now. I open up my computer and start typing.

"What are you doing?" Dana says abruptly, her eyes no longer glued to her textbook.

"I'm typing up my essay," I say matter-of-factly.

"No typing, close your computer," she commands. I stop typing, afraid. "Get back in bed, I don't want to see you typing anything."

I lie back down. She can be real scary sometimes. Dana continues reading her textbook.

I go to sleep.

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"Are you sure it was him?" I ask.

"Yes, I'm sure," Gabrielle says. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't think Josh did it," I say. "He doesn't seem the type."

"I don't care if he seems like the type or not, he's the one who killed me," she says.

"Was there anyone else there?" I ask, "Maybe you missed something."

"I don't know, all I remember was that there was a lot of light and---"

I suddenly remember the gun.

"You said he was holding a knife?" I ask, interrupting her.

"Yeah, so?" she says.

"Well, do you actually remember being stabbed?" I ask, "you said you saw a light right after he took out his knife, which doesn't really make sense, usually, with a knife, it takes a lot longer than..." I say, stopping myself short. I don't want to be too graphic about the knife stabbing. What I wanted to say was that with a knife, it would take a few stabs to kill someone, which isn't consistent with what she said. She never mentioned being stabbed, and, she said that once he took out his knife she saw a bright light, and then she was dead. From what she's telling me, it sounds like the weapon might have been a gun, because a gun can kill you within the blink of a second. Anyway, that was what the news article said when I read it a few weeks ago. I was basically taking it from there.

"Are you sure it wasn't a gun?" I ask.

"Well, I did hear a loud sound, it might have been a gun, why, does it really matter?" she asks me, her eyes wide.

"Yes, it just might," I say, rolling my eyes. I can't believe this; she's been feeding me the wrong information. And just think, if she's wrong about the knife, then she might be wrong about who killed her. Can I trust what she says about Josh if she's wrong about this?

"Yeah, I'll see ya, K?" Dana says, coming inside the room. I see Matt standing in the doorway. Matt comes inside and gives Dana a kiss on the cheek, after which she becomes as red as her hair. She closes the door as soon as he leaves.

"Hi," Dana says, skipping over to her bed and opening up her textbook. I eye her slyly. She hasn't even told me she was going out on a date with him.

I go out into the hall, Gabrielle following suit.

As soon as I close the door I open my mouth to say that we'll continue this later when Gabrielle states, "Was that Matt?"

"Yeah, you know him?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah, he's my best friend," she says, a smile spreading on her face.

"_Was_," I say.

"Whatever," she says, "but what's he doing with _her_?" she asks, looking at the door with a disgusted expression on her face.

"Hey, you're talking about my friend here," I say, getting defensive. How dare she talk about Dana like that? "So, you used to be friend's with the guy?"

"Yeah, he and my dad were pretty close too," she says, her eyes glazing over, "We used to hang out all the time. He is _such_ a great guy, sensitive, funny...I bet he was so upset when he found out about me...he probably wept for days...stopped eating..."

"Yeah, I bet," I say. He doesn't look too bad, if you ask me, for someone who's supposed to be in mourning. "Anyway, I'm going to head off..."

I hadn't even finished the sentence before she left.

Great.

I head back inside and begin to question Dana about her date.

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A/N: I'll try to update as soon as I can.


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